


Rebel Lesbians of the Sex Empire!

by odilemoon



Category: Original Work
Genre: "baru cormorant should fuck" the thesis, Aphrodisiacs, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Chastity Device, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Femdom, Forced Arousal, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, Girl Penis, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Loyalty, Military Kink, Military Uniforms, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Other, Overstimulation, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Revolution, Semi-Public Sex, Strap-Ons, Swordfighting, empire bad! rebellion against empire good!, i wouldn't say the dove is dead but it sure isn't happy, sword kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odilemoon/pseuds/odilemoon
Summary: In an all-lesbian galaxy where dissidents are put in chastity belts and orgasms can power spaceships, military genius (and soft butch disaster) Seagull Scourge sleeps her way through the political hierarchy as part of a convoluted plan to free her planet. Her rebel ex-lover Tel Zair seeks to bring her down- but army leaders well versed in both sex and tactics are hunting for Tel Zair...(now complete!!)
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Non-Binary Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In a universe where men have become obsolete, the Sexarchate rules the Six Galaxies with a firm hand and an iron chastity belt. Seagull Scourge, a strategist from a conquered backwater planet, has risen to the top ranks of the Sexarchate through methodical betrayal. Now all that remains is to seduce and betray the Sexarchate's members themselves. But on the precipice of reaching her goals, she's haunted by memories of her lover, the rebel warlord Tel Zair, who she turned into a sex slave to prove her loyalty to the Sexarchate.
> 
> Tel Zair isn't so easy to destroy. Although still recovering from the effects of her conditioning, she's wreaking havoc on the Sexarchate's system of power... and she plans to get revenge on Seagull as soon as she gets over the memories of their relationship. 
> 
> Chera, a genetically engineered supersoldier conditioned to crave serving her superiors, is enlisted to stop her. She's given access to the Sexarchate's greatest weapon: the disembodied soul of kickass butch Virazo, who betrayed the Sexarchate hundreds of years ago... 

The space warlord Tel Zair was a magnificent woman—both in her shining carapace of battle armor and out of it, strapped naked to a remaking table in the Sexarchate's most secret dungeons. Her jet-black hair streamed over her toned shoulders; her tawny olive breasts heaved, full and unconstrained, with every rapid breath through clenched teeth. Odd, Seagull thought, had thought, how every tiny imperfection (broken nose, lightning-strike stretch marks) only made her more exquisite.

Seagull stood over her at attention, hands behind her back. "Any last words, traitor?"

"You will never be free, dear girl," Tel Zair murmured, a cruel smile twisting her full lips. "Not of their rules, their boundaries, their schedules and shame. But most of all—"

And she ripped free of the cuffs to press against Seagull's carotid artery, to grab her hair and yank her mercilessly close— "You will never be free of me," she whispered.

Seagull felt the power behind each word, and her body trembled.

"No one can make you come the way I can. No one can make you weak the way I can. They hail you as liberator of a hundred planets, the finest military mind in existence, but I know you. Secretly, you cherish your weaknesses."

The dream changed. 

They were in Tel Zair's private quarters above her shuttle, luxurious with fur and velvet, ornamented with holograms of planets they'd claimed as their own. Tel Zair had just stripped out of her battle suit. She wore leather leggings and a casually open shirt. Seagull was bare and exposed except for a pair of synthsilk shorts with no panties, left on only because Tel Zair had wanted to see her needy cunt soak them through; as she ground desperately against Tel Zair's powerful thigh, she was sure they were dripping by now.

Tel Zair's hands on her hips stilled her. "When we've freed this whole planet, I'll let you come."

"I can't think like this," she'd whispered, squirming desperately, trying to place even a breath of friction on her throbbing clit. "Please—"

Except Tel Zair had smiled at her, lazy and lingering, and all thoughts of safewording had flown at lightspeed out of her head. "We both know you do your best work like this," Tel Zair said, and plundered Seagull's mouth with an unhurried kiss. "Give me something to come home to after this next battle. Something to think about while another liberated village is reciting tedious odes to your name."

"All right," she'd whispered, and Tel Zair had kissed her and stroked her hair until she could move without gasping from sheer burning arousal, and helped her dress.

But now they were back in the chamber. And between Seagull's hands balanced the net of delicate mesh and syringes of custom-made viruses that would reduce the warlord's brain to a tractable state, make her nothing more than a human fucktoy, a curiosity on some backwater world, or a trophy for one of the Sexarchate's many museums.

And unlike Seagull, Tel Zair had refused to beg. Even chained and captured and helpless, about to be stripped of all memory, all thought, all but the base sexual drive.

Her dark eyes flashed- not with power, but with sheer burning hatred.

"You'll never be free," she repeated. But this time she sounded a little uncertain. 

"It doesn't matter," Seagull answered. "The concept of freedom is a lie."

And she put the cap onto Tel Zair's head and flipped the switch.

Seagull awoke alone in the darkness, tears in her eyes. She gasped for breath, but quickly brought herself under control. She was in her luxurious private suite on a Sexarchate fleet flagship, between silk sheets of a bed so large she could have called in an entire squad of Warriors and hosted an orgy. The plan was progressing as she'd envisioned it. Everything was fine. The nightmares would fade with time and sedatives.

Except. As Seagull lay there in the darkness, bringing her breathing back under control, she realized she was throbbing with arousal, dripping wet.

Suppressing an exhausted groan, she flopped onto her stomach and slid a perfectly manicured hand down her cotton drawers. Seagull was the third-best fencer in twelve galaxy sectors, with a body to match: finely honed muscles, perky B-cup breasts, and a flat, toned stomach. And below that?

She was slick. Dripping. She could even smell her own arousal.

How long had it been, anyway?

Well, whispered the traitorous little voice at the back of her mind, how long has it been since you betrayed your last lover?

She ground down against her palm, hearing her own fast, needy breath, and moved to slip a finger inside her wet cunt—

"Seagull," the house AI of her villa chimed.

"Checking in," she groaned, letting herself yawn. "What is it?"

"Your vitals have spiked in a manner consistent with unsatisfied sexual arousal. Would you like to requisition a sex worker?"

Blinking blearily in the light the AI had turned on, she wiped her hand on the sheets. "I can manage to find someone on my own. Thank you, AI."

She was still throbbing. Still pulsating with want. But now? Fuck it, she was too exhausted to make getting off worth the effort. Not with the guilt creeping in every time she twisted her pale amber nipples or yanked her dark, sleek hair.

As much as she liked the idea of an early morning assignation, a mind like hers needed its rest. After all, she had huge plans to put into motion. 

Now alone in the darkness, Seagull could feel a small smile creeping over her lips.

Toppling the Sexarchate? As cathartic as it would have felt... it was just too messy to fit into her long-term goal of uniting the Six Galaxies under one ruler. Too many things could have gone wrong. Splinter factions led by rogue pornographers, or a plague of nanotechnology sex drugs. No, she'd realized that she'd needed to use the existing infrastructure.

Seagull Scourge, once a backwater quartermaster on an occupied planet, wasn't just going to topple the Sexarchate. She was going to rule it. To conquer it utterly.

She'd let herself settle into her new role long enough. In the morning, she would begin her plan of systematically blackmailing and seducing the other High Chancellors. Of bending them to her iron will.

Seagull slept again. She didn't dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Currently, Seagull lived on the Sexarchate central planet of Sextopia, a beautiful place of rolling hills, spread-out flower farms, and cities with towering spires. She had a tasteful villa with many marble columns, surrounded by neatly kept fields. Aside from her bedroom, she only ever spent time in her study, which had a gigantic roll-top desk with seven separate holographic swipe displays. There was also a launch pad on the roof for her own private interplanetary shuttle, which she used to travel to the orbiting military compound where the Sexarchate held top-secret meetings.

Before the Sexarchate's arrival, the oceanic planet Trydon had been very peaceful, with a rich cultural tradition.

Then the Sexarchate had discovered it. Which was bullshit, Seagull always thought. How could you discover a place that already had people living there? People who'd almost discovered FTL travel all on their own? 

The Sexarchate wanted every planet under their rule to be as similar as possible. Trydon was no exception.

They had declared unauthorized orgasms bad for the economy, and released a quasi-sentient virus tailored to the local genome that would give anyone who slept with more than one person in a week a painful case of blue balls, whatever their parts. (Sure, the Sexarchate wanted its subjects to be sluts. But they preferred needy sluts.) They also forbid the use of sex in cliffside caves to honor the gods, though sex in caves was both sacred and spiritually healing. Finally, they'd forced members of three separate nonbinary genders to all use the same gender-neutral pronoun set because emissaries had a hard time pronouncing the local language's consonants, which was not only lazy, but also a huge douchebag move.

The iron clit clamp of horny empire had truly descended upon the helpless, peaceful people of Trydon. Every time Seagull doubted what she was doing, she just thought of how her people were suffering and reminded herself that everything was for the greater good.

Today, she was in the Sexarchate High Command's spaceship, which doubled as a military base, listening to her fellow members debate policy. Sometimes Seagull thought that being a leader of the rebels had been, in its own way, less exhausting. Sure, she was always running for her life from planet to planet, her brain firing at top speed as she used her incredibly specialized skills to pinpoint their best chance of survival. But at least she got to delegate a great deal of uninteresting bureaucracy and spend time on interesting problems, like how to make the working-age population of a planet jerk off so much that it destabilized their entire economy.

The Sexarchate had a lot of meetings. Seagull used a fraction of her enormous intellect to keep up with the political discussion, and the rest to lazily ogle her fellow Sexarchate high council members.

Zerre, spliced with illegal nonhuman genetics, fierce and tough with finely honed muscles. Seagull had once watched her kill an assassin who'd stabbed her with her own acidic blood.

Delyla, who could calculate the odds of a battle as well as any supercomputer. Red hair, wolf-blue eyes narrow with methodical cruelty, jacket casually open over their glittering binder.

Roxie, deceptively small and delicate, chuckled awkwardly when outlining a plan to spray the population of a seditious sector with orgasm-suppressing chemicals that did nothing to inhibit corresponding frustrated arousal. She would have gone on for an hour about drone delivery systems and rate of population incidence, or some other epidemiology factor that only she and Seagull fully understood, if Delyla hadn't cleared their throat and put a hand on her knee, causing her to blush and giggle and fall silent, ducking her head. She looked much less lethal than the femme acknowledged as her dominant... until you saw her in the laboratory, face a blank of concentration.

"So, are we finished with today's business?" Ambrosia asked. The unspoken leader of the Sexarchate's cultural aspects, she was a tall, sleek, exotic blonde with mesmerizingly graceful hands.

Everyone chorused agreement.

"Seagull, there's more I'd like to discuss with you. Please stop by my on-planet quarters later today," Ambrosia added.

Seagull saluted and headed out.

Later that afternoon, Seagull found herself seated on the whitewashed front porch of Ambrosia's villa. Butterflies seemed suspended in midair as they transferred from one hydrangea to another. 

"So, Seagull," Ambrosia said in her low, elegant voice, sipping from a long-stemmed glass of bright blue starwine. "How have you found your experiences with us so far?" The plunging neckline of her dress showed creamy cleavage.

"It's a gift to serve as part of the Sexarchate," Seagull replied honestly.

Ambrosia cast her gaze over the horizon before returning an intent look to Seagull's face. "Good. I'm glad you feel that way. I'd like you to serve me specifically."

"I'm sorry?" Seagull said, pretending to be very puzzled. In truth, she'd been waiting for this to happen. She understood the way Ambrosia had looked at her from the very first moment their eyes met across the battlefield. The way Ambrosia had appraised her as something other than a vassal to be conquered during the long hours of treaty negotiations that had gone sour, spurring the rebels to fight more fiercely than ever; the way Ambrosia had knelt to kiss the back of her hand when she'd shown up at Sexarchate headquarters to fully offer herself to the empire's will.

"There are so few I can consider truly loyal to the Sexarchate, and you proved your loyalty to us when you sacrificed your former lover. In light of your admirable service…" Ambrosia tossed her white-blonde hair and unbuttoned her long, majestic coat, her fingers lingering over each movement. In truth, the coat had concealed the size of her breasts. They were even fuller and rounder than Seagull had thought, and her hips were wider as well. She was so luscious, she could be a three-course meal. "I'd like you to edge me until I scream, then rail me while taunting me about my failures. Preferably in the persona of an alternate-universe Seagull who'd actually been working for the Rebels, perhaps. I know it's such an absurd scenario, one that has no bearing on our day-to-day lives, but it's one I can't stop considering." She gave a little laugh, although her serious gaze fixed on Seagull. "Of course…" She slid the coat off her sleek shoulders, draped it over the back of her chair. "Naturally, you have no obligation to comply, and I can seek another if you so choose."

"Well, I freely choose to be of service," Seagull said, unfastening the belt that held her ceremonial sword. She placed the belt in her bag, then withdrew her rapier and placed it across the table. "Strip to the waist, Commander, and show me your weapon."

They went into the mirrored dance studio that Ambrosia had built on the ground floor in order to practice for balls.

During her travels as part of the Rebellion, Seagull had secretly returned to her planet. There, she had poured through information in old kinky texts to unlock information about a long-forgotten ritual that would imbue her with great power. In a cave deep within the sea-cliffs, she'd basically had sex with a manifestation of the planet itself.

The resulting full-body tattoo, invisible except under specially charged bioluminescent light, gave her the ability to delve into the secrets of whoever she fucked. This was how she would bring down the Sexarchate through the power of pleasure.

"You have a signal, I assume?"

"I've played games like these before; it's wildflower."

She did not, Seagull thought as they circled each other, duel like Tel Zair. No one dueled like Tel Zair; and now that the warlord herself had been stripped of all but the base urges of sex and survival by the smooth machinery of an implacable empire, no one ever would again. Ambrosia thrust forward, and Seagull nimbly dodged, then blocked the follow-up with a swivel of her wrist. She let her muscles settle into the contest's familiar rhythm, even as her mind slipped back towards the past.


	3. Chapter 3

When Seagull was assigned to her first posting, a cold backwater planet, the people there had protested. Sure, the official there was corrupt. She took bribes and would look the other way for anything. Maybe she was a disgrace to the Sexarchate, but they were used to being able to deal with her. To get away with their petty smuggling and unauthorized kink parties. And the official herself, whose name was Nalea, was furious at losing her position. As Seagull had strode down the gangplank, Nalea beckoned her close, grabbed her chin as she came up for a bow. “What is this? They send a girl fresh out of training to replace me? Some child prodigy… some idiot savant. How old are you, little one? Nineteen at the most?” From the appreciative way her gaze raked over Seagull’s body, the way she swiped her thumb over Seagull’s shock-parted lips, it was clear that she didn’t just want to keep her job- she wanted Seagull.

Seagull politely but firmly drew away from the touch and pulled her shoulders back. The movement emphasized her small, perky tits, but also the Sexarchate insignia on her outfit. “Twenty. And I’ll thank you to not question my authority.”

“Oh, I’ll do more than that. I’ll challenge you to a duel.” She said something in the local language, but due to a translator glitch, Seagull didn’t understand her. Nalea’s eyes glinted as she stared at Seagull, waiting for an answer with a contemptuous smile.

“Fine.” Seagull replied. “We shake on it.”

They squeezed hands hard, each trying to force the other to submit. Finally they both pulled away, breathing heavily.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Nalea said, and stormed off, tossing her fur shawl over her shoulder.

“Hey,” one of her new subordinates ventured. “You know what you just agreed to, right?”

“Remind me,” Seagull snarked casually. She could never afford to show any weakness, even in front of her current allies.

“Well, it’s a duel to cut off your opponent’s clothing. And the loser has to be the winner’s servant for a month, sexually or otherwise.”

“I’ll be all right. I’m a decent fighter, and I used to practice a great deal at the Academy.”

“Yes, but… she’s the planetary champion. She cheats. And she’s never lost.”

Seagull thought about how much damage Nalea could do to her reputation in a week, let alone a month. She wanted to cry, but her face remained a disciplined mask. Hopefully her quest to save her people wouldn’t be over before it began.

The next evening, the two fighters exchanged pleasantries in the town square. Nalea was accompanied by an entourage of supporters and seconds. Her supporters laughed, kissed each other’s cleavage, and made loud, suggestive bets on how long Seagull would last. Seagull had arrived alone, not wanting any of her Sexarchate-appointed junior officials to watch if she lost.

While Seagull wore her uniform, Nalea was so confident that Seagull wouldn’t be able to cut any of her clothes off that she wore a simple sheath tunic with only an athletics bra underneath.

That was when a hush fell over the town square. The people, even very drunk ones, parted to let someone past. A woman swaggered through the crowd, acknowledging each gasp of admiration with a casual smile or nod. Her waist-length dark curls were elaborately braided with bits of whalebone. She had broad shoulders, and her sleeveless leather vest with corset-style lacings down the front showed off how toned her arms were.

“Ah, Tel Zair. Have you come to watch the fight?” She gave the slight bow that one granted to an equal of subtly lesser rank.

“No,” Tel Zair said brusquely.

Tel Zair was the continent’s mayor. The Sexarchate had allowed the position to remain as long as it was overseen by a loyal Sexarchate official. Seagull had read about how even though she was basically a figurehead, she had done a lot to help her people keep morale up in the harsh climate, even opening up her own home and bed to hypothermia victims during the cold winters.

The idea of this strong, beautiful woman watching her brought low… it made Seagull wince. But if she ran, she would look weak, and no one would ever respect her authority again.

“Really? Then to what do I owe the honor of your presence?” Nalea asked.

She hefted a broadsword from its sheath. Sun glinted on fiercely tempered metal as she hoisted it casually. “I’m Seagull Scourge’s champion. I’m here to fight on her behalf.”

“Can she do that?” a fairly drunken member of Nalea’s entourage whispered in shock, evidently louder than they’d intended.

Tel Zair’s barely contained tits shook as she let out a low rumble of laughter. “Yes, I can. And I’m about to do a lot more besides. You don’t plan on running away from a fight, do you?”

“N-no.”

“Excellent. Put up your sword.”

The battle was incredibly short and decisive, Tel Zair cutting her opponent’s clothes off and slapping her ass for good measure. She’d shot Seagull a smoldering look, ambiguous yet powerful, and strode off, surrounded by a crowd of eager supporters.

Tugging her thoughts back into the present, Seagull easily disarmed Ambrosia. She held the tip of her sword a few inches away from Ambrosia’s throat.

“Tell me something. Does anyone know what you want?”  
“I don't- please don't hurt me,” she said, raising her hands slowly.   
“Not until you beg for it. Get down on the ground, and don’t even think of going for your weapon.”

Ambrosia did as she was told, and Seagull straddled her. “The troops you command. The people who bow to you. I don't suppose they know what an incomprehensible fucking slut you are.”  
One thing she'd learned from her years of service: yelling was for people who weren't confident that they would be heard. When you had all the power- when you were trailing a deactivated heat knife down the cheek of a wide-eyed cohort, for instance- raising your voice above a whisper was unnecessary effort. She was going to be a careful, respectful sexual partner and give Ambrosia everything she'd asked for. Then, replete with stolen secrets, she'd destroy her career and her life.  
Ambrosia shifted impatiently beneath her, the slightest imperceptible nod: get on with it. Good. Her powers only worked on people who were willing and had enjoyed themselves.  
“You shouldn't speak that way to someone of my rank.” Ambrosia’s voice trembled.  
Seagull shook her head. “Don't you see? I'm making everything so, so much easier for you.” Straddling Ambrosia's torso, she began to cut through her clothes. The fabric was of good quality and probably very expensive. Not her problem. She then bound Ambrosia's ankles together. “All this time, you've had to pretend to be a leader of humankind. This strong, special ice queen. But actually, you're just a slut promoted above her station after bluffing her way through.”  
She gasped in shock and tried to wiggle away, her silky blonde hair sweeping the floor. Seagull pinned her down easily and cut her bra open right down the center, letting her magnificent breasts spill free.  
“I think you like it when I caress these. When I remind you that you're still human. That you can still lose.”  
“Let me go.”  
“All right,” Seagull said nonchalantly, and rolled away to regard her; she staggered a few steps towards her fallen foil before reconsidering and falling to her knees.  
  
“What do you want me to do?” Ambrosia asked quietly.   
Seagull stroked her face. “Address me as your lord, for one. I'm in charge here. And I want you to eat me out. If you think you can't breathe, squeeze my leg twice. But if you try anything...” and she twirled the knife before straddling her fellow High Command member’s face.   
  



	4. Chapter 4

It was pleasant having such slow, methodical attention paid to her delicate clit. The vibration of her whimpers, the long, careful strokes. She let herself enjoy the pleasant, relaxing sensation and waited for her desire to build. Only it didn't.

When she moved away, Ambrosia lifted her head. "Did I do something wrong?"

Seagull shoved her shoulders down to the mat: stay there. "I don't even know where to start." She cut halfway down Ambrosia's trousers, then ripped the rest. Underneath, in a gesture that entirely contradicted her restrained, polished exterior, she was wearing lacy panties that were barely more than a scrap of silk. Seagull found them beautiful- and what lay underneath even lovelier.

Hiding her gestures from Ambrosia, she swiped the knife to full bluntness. "Take those off."

Glaring furiously, Ambrosia complied. Her ankles were still tied, though, so she couldn't pull them all the way off. She seemed fully aware of how undignified she looked, and she had small, delicate labia, almost petal-like. Fascinated, Seagull probed them, noticing with a smirk how she was growing wetter and wetter by the minute. "You like that, don't you?"

She whimpered, but refused to answer.

In response, Seagull pulled Ambrosia into her lap so she could easily reach down and finger-fuck her. They were both facing the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "Look at yourself. Tell me exactly what you see."

"A disheveled, defeated slut. Stripped of her uniform. Stripped of her rank," she whispered, her voice shaking with arousal.

Seagull shrugged. "Close. Go further."

Ambrosia closed her eyes, a smile flashing across her face. "Your slut."

"No, keep them open. Watch yourself come." And she replaced her fingers with the handle of the blunted knife.

Ambrosia glared at her reflection in the mirror, muscles tending as Seagull fucked her faster and faster with the knife handle, rubbing slow, slick circles against her clit. But she didn't break. Not until Seagull pressed a gentle, mockingly soft kiss to her neck. She took in an unsteady breath that turned into a cry of surprised pleasure as she came apart in Seagull's arms.

Knowledge, sharp and sudden: she'd been taking bribes from merchants outside the Sexarchate to advance their pet causes, even if it meant starting a tariff war with their closest ally and altering the figures in reports to conceal this act.

Now Seagull knew why none of her export reforms had made headway in the sectors under Ambrosia's direct control. She almost didn't know whether to be angry or impressed, but she was too composed to let either emotion show on her reflection's face. Seagull always thought creative accounting was a misleading term, seeing as how anyone could lie.

Afterwards, Seagull busied herself by combing out the knots in Ambrosia's now tangled white-gold hair.

"That was... you were truly magnificent." She smiled up at Seagull, stretching the full length of her tall, curvaceous body across the mat. Although her makeup was smudged and her gaze slightly unfocused, she was still remarkably elegant, with an aura of self-possessed serenity.

"I'm glad you found me so," Seagull said, a polite reply. She finished brushing out Ambrosia's hair and began to braid it, an action that elicited a contented sigh. Whenever she topped in an off-battlefield capacity, Seagull always needed to care for her partners afterwards. Even if they were her political rivals... even if they had damaged her planet. She always needed to reassure herself she wasn't the callous monster she'd pretended to be.

Seagull cut away the bindings from Ambrosia's ankles, and she stood up and stretched, highlighting the smooth planes of her abdomen, the strength of her thighs. They were evenly matched, but today, she'd let Seagull win. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No," Seagull said, looking away from the mirrored wall. "No thank you, I think I'd just like to sit here for a bit. Collect my thoughts."

Ambrosia nodded calmly. "Use my house AI to call an airskimmer when you'd like to return to your lodgings."

Seagull liked to pretend that cruelty was a weapon of sexual battle or a tool of play. Something she could slip on and off like her coat of office.

But in truth, it was a part of her. Who she was.

Who else but a monster could have looked into the eyes of the only woman she'd ever loved and sentenced her to sensual oblivion?

No. She couldn't think about this. Couldn't let guilt consume her. She imagined a blank gray mask, expressionless as the void between stars, covering her face; imagined the material shifting and growing to cover her body, skin-tight, impenetrable.

It made sense that she couldn't come, that she didn't even know if she wanted to. Pleasure was for people who could let down their guard. And from the moment she'd realized what was necessary, her body, her very existence, had become a weapon of war.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey a new POV character

It was a typical day for Chera, one of the Sexarchate’s genetically engineered soldiers, during peacetime. A two-hour workout, drills with her stun rifle, wrestling practice with the rest of her unit, and taking her superior’s clit in her mouth.

The Captain stood before a communication screen, discussing a strategy for mopping up the rest of the rebel enclaves. Every so often, their eyes would flutter shut as they savored a particularly pleasurable moment. Chera knelt between their mirror-polished boots, mouth full and tongue busy.

All the Ra were fairly genetically similar, although not in an incestuous way. Olive skin that ranged from sallow paleness to a warm tan-gold, thin light hair on a continuum of lank and straight to fluffy ringlets, and compact bodies with sizeable tits. Chera was taller than average, but otherwise typical for her batch- and, like all Ra genegrowns, she loved pleasing her superiors. Nothing made her happier than the chance to be useful and used.

At last the call ended.   
When the Captain, their legs weak with pleasure, staggered back into their fancy chair, Chera crawled eagerly forward.

"Good. I'm not done with you yet,” the Captain said. “Unlace my boots, will you?"  
Like every piece of the uniform, the boots were keyed to their owner, and could have unlaced themselves at a word. But the captain wanted to see Chera labor over the knots, which was fine with her. She struggled to unpick the tightly laced cords with her inadequately short fingernails, but finally managed it and neatly removed both boots. The captain kicked off their regulation trousers; when Chera raised their head to marvel at the exposed smoothness, they casually put a foot on her shoulders and shoved her face into the carpet. "I didn't order you to gawk."   
Stammering an apology, Chera dove to bury her face between her superior's legs.  
  
The Captain, as a high-ranking officer, received a certain allotment of orgasms each decimonth. As long as they didn't go over that number, they could experience the relief of pleasure whenever they wanted- and they didn't care who heard. Their thighs tightened around Chera's head as the salt of their wetness flooded her mouth.   
“May I please have my monthly orgasm? You don't even have to waste time touching me, I'll get myself off- hump your desk and lick it clean afterwards-“ Chera couldn't keep breathy desperation out of her voice.  
“Oh, did I forget to tell you? I'm not your commanding officer anymore.”  
“What?” Chera’s jaw dropped.   
As their boots re-laced themselves, the Captain smirked, wheeling their chair forward so they could kick their legs onto the desk. “You're being transferred. New orders from High Command just came in. Top-secret mission- it's even above my clearance level.” She patted Chera on the head the way one would ruffle a dog’s fur. “You're very lucky, Chera. Someone in Sexarchate High Command has looked at your service record and chosen you as a resource.”  
Or, Chera thought, someone in Sexarchate High Command wanted a scapegoat and was setting her up to fail. Hopefully that wasn't the case.  
“I’ll do my best to be a credit to my new superiors, and to your training,” she managed, leaning her head into one final hair-muss.  
“See that you do,” the captain said with a smile, beginning to scroll through some documents on their wrist screen. Chera dressed with unsteady hands and managed to make it out of the room, where she had to lean on the wall for support. Walking in this state of pent-up arousal was challenging, as the seam of her trousers rubbed tantalizingly over her clit with every step. The other soldiers she passed smiled ruefully at her or nodded in understanding at her disheveled appearance. It was a common Sexarchate practice to wind your subordinates up and leave them wanting.  
  


***

Chera went to the end of a hallway and placed her palm on an access panel. The door creaked open, and she peered inside. To her surprise, Zerre, military commander of the Sexarchate, sat behind a polished wooden desk. She always had an intense look in her dark brown eyes, like a predator tracking its prey.

Chera tried not to be scared.

“Chera Six,” Zerre said briskly. “I've called you here for a top-secret assignment of the greatest importance.”  
Chera’s mouth felt dry. “High Commander. With all due respect-“  
“Yes?”  
“Why me?”  
She leaned back, powerful muscle shifting under smooth skin as she interlaced her long fingers behind her head. “True, there were a long list of suitable candidates. But I was impressed by your performance at Kewo Zal.”  
Chera and several other soldiers had been pinned down by a rebel sniper firing long-range brain scrambling darts, then captured when the pink chemical haze slowed their marching pace. Afterwards, they'd been subjected to sexual torture and interrogation. The rest of her squad had broken under the arousal-induction gas, defected to the rebels for the promise of relief: only Chera had remained lucid enough to escape with intel, eventually seducing a pair of rebels to rescue her companions. Everyone had agreed that she’d more than earned her monthly orgasm that day- and everyone had teamed up to give it to her.   
“And again at Berriada.”  
After an unexpected loss of the commanding officer to a dream mine, a neurotech device which trapped the unlucky person who triggered it in a month-long sexual reverie, Chera had been forced to take command of her unit. This was a huge challenge for her. Ra genemods were naturally submissive, and required orders to survive, but Chera had only thought about servicing her soldiers, giving them what they needed, and making the officers who'd trained her proud. Although she'd pushed herself to the point of collapse and spent a week in the special infirmary afterwards, she'd been able to navigate home without losing anyone to Rebel seduction.  
  
“Tell me, Chera, what do they teach you in military history these days? Do you know about Virazo Gold?”  
“Of course! There used to be seven galaxies in the Sexarchate. But during a critical battle, she seduced her subordinates, which lead to a mass orgy that distracted the entire fleet and forced them to secede a critical juncture. Because of that, the orgasm denial based technology that the Sexarchate uses to power complex weapons of psychological erotic warfare no longer functioned in that entire galaxy. That was how powerful the orgy she started was.”  
A crooked smile crossed her face. “Ah. I see you do know your history.”  
She shrugged, blushing. “I like to read.”  
It gave her something to focus on during long hours of being human furniture whenever her concentration wandered.  
“Well, here's a surprise for you. General Gold is going to be your new commanding officer.”  
Only her training kept her from unleashing a string of disbelieving swear words. Instead, what came out of her mouth was: “P-please repeat and clarify the order.”  
“Shortly after her betrayal, the High Command found a way to separate her consciousness from her body and store her in a computerized dildo. About every ten years, they pulled her out. Tried to figure out why she committed her crime. When that didn't work, some official discovered that she could still be of use as a commander. Since then, we’ve used her in many battles.”  
A delicious thrill of fear shot through Chera. To have to serve under someone so infamous, someone who no interrogator had been able to fully understand… there was so much potential for peril, and every Ra got wet and/or hard when faced with danger. “What situation would be so dire as to call for her use now?”  
“The warlord Tel Zair is, obviously, no threat to our order. She's tucked away in a little upscale brothel at the edge of the galaxies. But someone making use of her banner and tactics has been striking at power generation centers at the edges of our territory, disabling the denial centers. Without them, our realm is vulnerable to outside attack. Together, you and Vi will infiltrate one of their captured outposts and find out what their next plan is.”


	6. Chapter 6

A short while later, Chera lay wearing a hospital gown on a medical examination table in the midst of High Command’s base laboratory.

“Interesting,” said Everly. A tall woman with curly dark hair, she was the unit’s doctor. “I've reviewed the files, and she's never been hosted by a Ra series before.”  
Chera bit her lip. The cold air made her nipples harden into tight points. “Who has hosted her? Were they okay?”  
Everly named a dominant-heavy genemod, as well as some officers from unmodded backgrounds that Chera wasn't too familiar with. “Those are the people who’ve had her in their head during the past fifty years. There were some concerns before they got the technology fully worked out, but don't worry about that. All you have to do is what you're told. And from Virazo's track record, she has clearly given up any notion of rebelling. I promise you're in no danger there.”

The doctor slicked up her gloved hand and sensually stroked Chera’s mound, smiling down at her in a reassuring way. “You have a gorgeous pink cunt, soldier. Are you aware of that?”

Chera bit her lip, trying not to thrust or squirm against the steady caress. She knew for sure she hadn’t been given permission to have an orgasm today. And even if she was between superior officers, that was no excuse for disobedience.  
“Relax for me. Good girl.”  
She was still wet from serving her superior, and the doctor's fingers slid in easily. She couldn't keep from whimpering and screwing up her face, from arching slightly off the table; the doctor stroked her breasts, trying to calm her down.  
“I know, I know, you’re not allowed to come without permission of your direct superior. I’ll try to make this as easy on you as possible. Still, it's good that you're in cuntform for this; it'll make the process much quicker.”

She opened a metal box and took out a large, curved dildo made of shimmering green dichroic glass.  
“What's that?” Chera asked, lifting her head a little. She hoped she got to have it inside her.  
“It's where we store Virazo between excursions- you may hear it called the Emerald Obelisk. Now, all you have to do is get comfortable and try to keep your heart rate as close to resting as possible to reduce feedback during the transfer.”

She couldn’t help moaning as the dildo slowly slid in and out of her body, pressing against all her most sensitive spots. How was it possible to keep her heart rate close to resting during such a pleasurable intrusion? She was having a hard enough time trying to stay still...

There was a flash of light. Suddenly Chera was sitting on the floor of a small room. The walls and floor were painted the same shimmering green as the dildo that had been inside her, and a woman in a tattered uniform was curled up protectively in the corner.

Chera had seen the General in old pictures and documentaries. A powerful, compact body, with a shock of short dyed-crimson hair, and breasts that seemed barely contained by her jacket. Now the colors of her clothes were faded, and her hair- dark at the roots- had grown to cover her ears.   
“Where am I? Everything’s been dark for so long, and they took away my computer a few weeks ago... I don't know what's going on.” She began to rock agitatedly.  
Chera scrambled to settle down beside her. “Shh. It's okay.”  
But her deep brown eyes were still wide with panic. “I don't know where I am.”  
“Wherever you are, I'm right here with you.”  
“I want you to touch me, whoever you are. I need to feel something. I need to feel real.”  
She had lovely strong hands with blunt, calloused fingers and neatly trimmed nails. Her hands were shaking. Chera cuddled up to her solid, curvy body and tried to warm those hands with her own. “Is this good?”  
She nodded.  
“Whoever you are... I really like the way you look. You're so soft and so gorgeous.”  
“And you're warm,” the woman replied with a tentative smile. She seemed calmer now, more self-posessed. “I wouldn't expect a scrawny thing like you to generate so much heat. But look-“ she held out a perfectly steady hand, showing that she'd stopped shivering.  
Chera smiled. “Guess I run hot.”  
Another flash of light, and she was back on the doctor’s table, feeling her inner muscles clench in protest as the dildo slid slowly out of her wet cunt.  
Oh, said the woman’s voice in her head as Chera watched her fingers twitch briefly under someone else's control. Yes. Fantastic.

It was so surreal to hear a voice in her head that wasn’t hers, to see her fingers moving and know she hadn’t done it.

What had this felt like for the General’s previous hosts? What would it be like to have someone else jerk her off using her own hand? She wouldn’t even be able to edge herself without this gorgeous woman knowing. The thought made her clit throb.  
“Hello, General Virazo Gold. Are you acclimated to this new body? This is your host, Chera Six. She'll report directly to you at all times; High Command will send your mission briefing by the end of the day.”  
“Didn’t know they were still letting you practice medicine,” Chera heard herself say with a different accent and emphasis than her own voice.  
The doctor smirked. “That's the snarky asshole I’ve grown to know and tolerate. Four laps around the room and I'll let you dress and return to your quarters.”  
She kept expecting her body to be broader, kept leaving extra room in turns, confused about her center of gravity; somehow Vi's body map overlapped with her own. But by the third circuit, she concentrated hard on what she knew she looked like and recovered her usual smooth stride, even though the fact that her cunt still ached with emptiness and she longed to be fucked was a huge distraction.

“Well? Does the General have anything to say regarding what we should do to take down the new rebel uprising?” Zanne said when Chera had returned to her office.  
Chera could see the woman very clearly in her mind’s eye. She was hefty in a muscular way, like a weightlifter, with short spiky hair and soft-looking tits. In Chera's mental image of her, she was wearing a tank top and cargo pants. Her nipples strained against the ribbed light grey cotton fabric, which seemed like it would give way at any moment. Chera could also see the darker circles of her wide areoles. Chera concentrated on the image, trying to hear her voice. Then she felt it. A mental connection between them, tingling over her entire body.

“I’m not saying that,” Chera thought back, trying not to laugh.

“Go on. Say it. It’s me saying it, so you won’t get in trouble. And it’ll be funny.”  
Chera cleared her throat and stared at a point just beyond Zanne’s head. “The General says, where the fuck is her cock?”  
Zanne momentarily pursed her lips. “Ah. Yes. I would expect something like that; she tends to be a bit grouchy at the start of her assignments. Still, you're alive, so that's a good sign.”  
Although Chera naturally trusted every superior officer, she wondered what the hell a bad sign would have been.  
“Your orders for the rest of the day are to return to your quarters. See if you can establish some sort of rapport. Then you can start working to take down the New Rebellion.”  
Chera felt like her legs weren't her own. Vi kept trying to walk with a wider stride, to take bolder and louder steps; she felt her own hand reach down to adjust her crotch, then slap herself frustratedly in the cunt. Some other soldiers looked at her.  
“Sorry,” Chera said, “carry on, just following orders, everything's under control.”

But there was also a feeling of fear buzzing under her skin. She saw herself assessing everyone as a potential threat. Why?

Then she remembered the small, dark room… and thought about how it would feel to be trapped there for fifty years, a hundred years, even with access to a tablet loaded with books and games.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?” she subvocalized. “About going back.”

“There have been times when they took me out and changed their minds… or when they took me out just to lock my host in another dark little room. I’m too naturally sexually dominant for anyone to top me- lots of people tried putting me in my place, making me swear my loyalty to the Sexarchate when I begged for an orgasm, and I seduced them and they ran away to the Seventh Galaxy so they could experience similar debauchery daily.”

“Your file mentioned you used to corrupt anyone who came near you. What changed?”

“If you’d had the clearance to my full file, it would have mentioned that I’m scared of the damn dark. I first started suppressing uprisings just so I’d have a light and something to read in the Obelisk. Then I realized that the Sexarchate had a point, and that it’s better for people’s sexuality to be in control of authorities who know best. Although they sometimes forget to leave on the light when the Obelisk is in transport, it’s not for any lack of obedience on my part. I’ve completed every mission assigned to me, carried out every plan, and this one will be no different. The New Rebellion won’t know what hit them.”

Checking her wrist screen, she noticed her room assignment had been changed; for the first time she could remember, she’d been given a solo room. Only she wasn’t alone, not really. If she was, she would have snuck a ruined orgasm just to take the edge off. Her clit was still burning with need, first from tasting her superior’s pleasure, then from being slowly fucked by the big, curved shaft.

“General?” Chera whispered.

“Yes?”

“You’re my commanding officer now, right? Can I come?”

Silence in her head. Then she felt a slow, dangerous smile cross the General’s features. “We’ll see. Take your clothes off. Pants first. Fold everything neatly.”  
  



	7. Chapter 7

As Chera sat down on the bed, now fully naked, she felt filled with adrenaline and excitement. What would this powerful person who had control over her body do to her? What would she make her do?

“Look down at your junk for me?”  
She did so, spreading her labia apart for a better view. The temptation to rub her clit in earnest was almost overwhelming.   
“Look at that. It's so soft and pink. Yeah, I love plunging my dick into a cunt. But that doesn't mean I want one.”  
“Well, I'm sorry, but you're inhabiting my body now,” Chera said as diplomatically as she could manage.  
Virazo scoffed. “See, in my actual body, I had an amazing fucking cock. Great heft, a perfect curve; fantastic for a girl to circle her thumb around the head or tease with slow licks up the whole shaft, but even more fantastic for making hot girls come.” She controlled Chera's hand, digging her fingernails into her thigh and leaving red marks as she scraped downward. To Chera, the bracing pain felt as good as a caress, only it cleared her head as well.  
A stinging slap left the muscles of her thigh quivering. “Seriously. You've never had a cock, right?”  
“This is the crotch I went through basic sexual training with.” It felt weird speaking aloud to someone only she could hear. “I didn't want to have to re-train.”  
“Right. Well, I could feel a hot chick come around my junk as I slammed into her. I could have power over her- power that she loved- as I felt her clenching around me tighter than any fist, and all she could do was gasp and clutch at my muscular shoulders as I slammed into her over and over, our tits pressing together. I had a line twenty soldiers long outside my door. “  
She could feel it. Could feel Virazo lazily stroking her shaft as she bragged about her accomplishments, proud cock jutting upwards. Chera closed her eyes at the unfamiliar sensation, her entire body tensing. The phantom organ felt so vulnerable and sensitive. She imagined a superior officer crushing it under their hand, stepping on her cock with a perfectly polished boot. If she got aroused, everyone would be able to see her cock straining against her trousers.  
“No, not like that. Here, I'll show you... controlling a brain is a lot like flying a spaceship, you know that?”  
Suddenly, she was on her hands and knees as Virazo rigorously fucked her, pulling almost all the way out with each stroke. Virazo had clearly put some practice into mind-stimulation, because she had the sensation that she’d been prepared; the cock sliding against her inner walls gave nothing but slick, lubed-up pleasure.

Then she sensed Virazo sigh and shake her head. “No, you're not imagining my giant dick big enough. That's the trouble with supersoldier clones; great at fighting, great at taking cock, no imagination whatsoever.”

The cock swelled up mid-stroke, growing even bigger. She could barely tighten around how large it was.

Virazo dug her nails into the junction where Chera’s neck met her shoulder; she’d adjusted her thoughtself to be wearing some sort of clawed gauntlet, and blood trickled down as metal pricked her skin. Chera hated the way it stung, but loved that she was strong enough to endure it.

“Do I have your obedience, soldier?”

“I’m your weapon,” she stammered automatically back. It was a rote phrase, one embedded in their conditioning.

“That’s what I thought. Rub your clit and come for me, now.” And she dragged her claws down Chera’s back, then leaned her soft tits against where she’d hurt. Her hips moved frantically, jackhammering desperate thrusts.

So huge, she thought in dazed fascination as her superior officer pounded an orgasm out of her, with no more involvement from Chera than the heel of her palm brushing against her clit. She collapsed helplessly onto the bed, her legs shaking. Vi growled and pounded into her a few more times, a hand in her hair for leverage. The spurt of hot come flooding her insides wrung another few tremors from her oversensitive body.

“Fuck,” she said as she came back to the real world. Although she hadn’t moved, she felt like she’d been ridden hard. Her voice was incredibly hoarse. She could barely speak.

  
There was a knock on her door. It was Liera, a kindhearted soldier who took extra shifts to care for suspected rebels after their interrogations or reprogramming. “Hey, Chera? We heard you screaming. Is everything okay?”  
Her new mission was top secret. But even if she straight-up said, the disembodied brain of a dead General who betrayed the Sexarchate two hundred years ago is in my head teaching me the value of a giant throbbing penis? There was no way they'd believe her.  
Instead she just mumbled, “This sports team I liked just won a big game.”  
“Oh, cool. Need any aftercare, sports fan?” That was Meliora, another soldier; she often took bets on how many rebels would be hauled in for questioning on a given day, and had gotten several members of Chera’s unit to gamble away their already infrequent orgasms.   
It was clear the pair in no way believed her.  
“Ummm... I feel too sweaty and gross to touch anyone. But if you get me a protein bar, I'll clean your boots next time I'm cleaning mine.”  
“Deal.” She heard their footsteps walking away.

“Chera?” That was Vi inside her head.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re a good girl. And a good soldier.” She must have done something, because any remaining tension seeped out of Chera’s muscles as cool phantom fingers stroked her breasts.

“Thank you, sir. It’s a great honor to serve under you.” Cracking a smile, she added: “Literally.”

Virazo chuckled. “I think you’ll be a good host as well. Now sleep. If the previous times I’ve been let out of my prison are anything to go by, they’ll have need of us soon.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for Another new viewpoint character!   
> switching to updating more often just because I can. life is hard, have some porn.

Once, the piece of living property knew, she'd been a person. A person like the people who came to her: taking off their clothes with trembling or overeager hands, sighing in agonized relief as they collapsed onto the bed of her assignation room. People who clenched their teeth until they had headaches, or who had gone so long without satisfying themselves that every touch produced an oversensitive wince.

Once she, too, had faced the difficulties of identity, the problems of making decisions for oneself. Now she was just a body to be used, to lick at the cunts that covered her face in turns, to clench around a cock, to roll her hips as commanded when someone rode her. People came to her, to her room in the brothel, and she served them. It was so convenient, so relaxing, as if she was driftwood just bobbing on a sea of orgasmic moans. She didn't even need a name.

One day a golden collar was placed around her neck, and a star-steel leash attached.  
"You're being transferred," said the brothel owner. The woman who was a body had never serviced her, so didn't bother to remember her name. With a tug of the leash, she was pulled off the bed and down a long, richly upholstered corridor. The woman, her bearing regal, didn't even look down at her, trusting her to be obedient, to know her place.  
 _I am nothing to her. I am a body and useful and nothing more._

In the brothel’s parlor sat a woman with short brown curls, and an uncannily pale andro with the blue eyes of a hunting beast. Both wore uniforms.

“I must say, I was surprised you were able to meet the offered price. Even after seven rounds of negotiating... no one has actually gone through with the payment,” the brothel owner said.

“My employer has a special interest in the woman this sex doll used to be. An insatiable interest, you might say... one they were willing to go to any price to have satisfied,” the andro replied coolly, leaning back in their richly upholstered chair. Their dark green uniform pants were perfectly ironed. The woman wondered what lay beneath. Maybe a scrap of lurid bright lace barely covering downy hair, or regulation boxer shorts that could be ripped apart to reveal a throbbing organ red and dripping with need.

The sex slave's mouth watered. Even with all her conditioning, it was an effort to remain perfectly kneeling, perfectly at attention. Except for her mandated recharging periods- food, sleep, and so forth- this was the longest she'd gone without a fuck in her recorded memory. 

“The credits have been transferred to your account,” the woman said. She had a soft, sweet voice, almost shy in its harmonic restraint. The sex slave wondered if she would gasp when she had an orgasm, or if she would be completely silent, with only a trembling shudder passing through her body. Sometimes the most buttoned-up clients were the ones who ended up screaming.

The brothel owner tapped a datapad. “Everything checks out; you can take your purchase home at once. Of course its skin is too sensitive for the weight of clothing, which might trigger inconvenient spontaneous orgasms, but we'll provide you with a modesty gown and blindfold…”

After calmly following the tugs on the leash attached to her collar, aware of how the silken fabric brushed against her sensitive nipples with every movement, the woman found herself once again blissfully naked in what looked to be the medical chamber of her new owners' spaceship. She looked from one to the other. "When are you going to fuck me?"  
“After we examine you,” said the andro, whose name was apparently Reii.

She sat compliantly on the examination table as it tilted her back, up to the moment cold metal touched her wrist. "No!" The word ripped out of her without conscious intent. Her heartbeat spiked frantically, and not from arousal. "Please- don't cuff me. Please." This had happened once before, the first day she could remember. A gorgeous plump Sexarchate officer with gloriously swinging rose-pink nipples had reached to cuff her to the bed. Her vision went white. The next thing she knew- a splintered bedpost, the cuffs dangling loose, and the naked officer pounding on the door for all she was worth.

Reii just sighed. “All right. Ropes, then?”

“Ropes,” she agreed, nodding eagerly. It felt so good to have something asked of her that she could uncomplicatedly obey. This must be how a knife feels, she'd thought the first day of her existence. An object with a singular purpose, permitted to serve. The rope felt smooth against her skin. She knew these strangers wouldn't let her fall.

“Namara, get the screen.”

Reii’s partner pulled up a wrist screen and projected a holographic video.

On the screen, a woman with long, dark hair gave the camera a steady gaze. “Tel Zair.” The name sounded familiar... and the woman on the screen was herself. Funny. She didn't remember that- didn't remember any life before this. “I'm sure all you want to do right now is be used and humiliated over and over. But you have to focus. Over the next few days, you will be forbidden from touching yourself, even as the drugs' last protest rages through your body. Remember this, warlord: as you disciplined your army, so too may you master yourself.  
Remember this as well: everything you are about to endure is something you consented to. In writing. With your own holographic seal affixed. I say to you what the Six Galaxies say to their conquered territories: this is for your own good.”

At once she became concerned. Not the earlier panic of the cuffs, but something deeper, yet more rational. What was a sentient cunt when you took away its ability to finger itself? To rub its clit?

“Are you going to complain, dear heart,” murmured Reii, undoing her hair from its complicated braids, “or are you going to be a good girl for us?” Their deft fingers slipped out each pin and elastic without the slightest pull.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don't understand. Whoever I was then, I'm not supposed to be her anymore. The Sexarchate's power is all-consuming.”  
“Sweetheart, you're not under the Sexarchate's power. You're under ours,” Reii purred. She'd been massaging the woman's neck and shoulders. Now her grip tightened just for an instant- I could choke you if I wanted- and the woman let out a gasp.

She knew she should be silent, but her mouth ran on. “And what about my medicine? I'm supposed to have medicine to keep me compliant. So I can be good, horny tease toy who can only think straight with someone’s bits in her mouth.”

Reii didn't reply right away. With a hand idly resting on the back of the woman's neck, she beckoned her partner Namara over and pulled her into a luxurious, lingering kiss. One that suggested years of familiarity and experience: I know you are mine. When she kissed the woman, it was harder, forceful: you are mine now, and you'll like it, and she had no choice but to relinquish herself to the all-consuming sensation of Reii's teeth scraping teasingly over her lip. "Don't worry," Reii murmured, pulling back. "We'll be keeping you very busy."

Except none of that business involved getting fucked. She was watched every minute of the day as she struggled to focus on seemingly meaningless tasks: memorizing lists of ships, running from one end of the corridor to another, loading and unloading a gun. Worst of all, she wasn't even allowed to touch herself. Reii and their partner watched her like Sexarchate class A auditors who'd just found an illegal dildo 3-D printing rig and were waiting to see who else they could implicate. Any attempt to touch herself was met with a riding crop across the thighs. Not even a proper spanking!

Waking her up from a restless sleep, Reii turned on the lights and tossed something at her.

"But I-"

"I know. Put it on anyway."

The trousers constricted her thighs; she could feel their center seam rubbing against her metal chastity belt like the faintest echo of sensation, and her breasts ached from having to wear a bra, let alone a shirt. Why couldn't someone just bury their face in her tits and swirl their tongue around her nipples? Why couldn't she wear something proper, like clamps? She staggered out into the exercise room, barely able to walk.

"Doesn't she look just like-" Namara began, but was shushed by a hand on her shoulder.

“Good,” Reii said unceremoniously. "Now drop and give me ten push-ups."

She stopped halfway through the first, when the slightest tensing of her abdominal muscles made her aware of how badly she needed something in her cunt. Something big. Now.  
Maybe she was a set of sexual organs with a brain attached as an afterthought, but that brain was pissed. She stalked towards Reii. “Why are you doing this? I'm a sex toy. I'm not a person like you are- you shouldn't treat me like this.”

Without warning, Reii slammed her against the wall. There was unexpected power in their lanky frame as they snaked a hand between their bodies to cup the woman's chastity belt. “Oh, really? What are you going to do about it? After all, you said so yourself; you're just a set of holes. If I want those holes permanently empty and dripping, isn't it my right to keep you that way?”

Conflicting impulses flashed through her mind.  
 _I want to fuck. I want to obey.  
I want... I am...  
I am._

Knowledge flashed through her mind, sudden as an orgasm forced out by a powerful vibrator: this belt unlocks with my fingerprint and swipe code. She shoulder-blocked Reii back, took off her pants, and performed the sequence; the belt fell at her feet.

“Lieutenant.” She picked it up and tossed it back to Reii, remembering how she'd given it to them as a gift for exceptional service. “Thank you for obeying your orders.”

Reii pressed the bruise forming where Tel Zair had hit them, a smile glowing on their face. “I'm glad you're not displeased, milord.”

“You've done exceptionally. My commendations to the scientist who adulterated the dosage on the mind-control injection cap as well.”

“It's you,” Namara squealed, bouncing up and down. “It's really you.”

“In the flesh,” she said with a confident smirk. “Come here.” She kissed Reii and tousled their hair, giving them a few solid blows of thanks. Then Tel Zair realized that what she really wanted was to enjoy her authority. Maybe the mind-control drugs had worn off, but she was still horny as fuck. “Right. Who’s up for sex, now?”

Reii shook their head, dark eyes full of regret. “I have to fly the ship to make the approach to the new secret base. But you can beat the shit out of me anytime you want. Especially if you swap back to having a cock so you can slam it into me.” She winked and headed out.

“I would be absolutely honored to serve. Right now,” Namara said, fidgeting and with excitement.

“Good. Because I am no mindless sex doll. I am the warlord Tel Zair. And if I want someone to suck my clit, my clit gets sucked. Do you understand?”

Namara fell into a smooth obeisance; dropping to one knee, then a full bow, her forehead touching the floor. When she looked up, she had a blissful smile on her face. “It's good to see that you've returned to us, my lord.”

“I'm sure it is,” Tel Zair said, inclining her head slightly in return. “Now come over here and eat me out.”

Although her fingers were tangled in the young woman's short curls, Tel Zair's mind was somewhere else; through long, flat strokes all up her labia and teasing, delicate movements that circled around her clit, even when she felt herself begin to respond in earnest, thrusting eagerly onto the young underling's tongue.

Namara pulled back, tears of desperate arousal in her wide eyes. “Please, milord- please touch me, please let me get off, I'd do anything for you-“

“I know,” Tel Zair said dispassionately, stroking the young woman's hair, and gestured to one finely blacked boot. Honestly, they looked a bit scuffed; whoever had been maintaining them in her absence didn't have Seagull's meticulous attention to detail. But as a symbol of power, they would do.

Namara began to hump Tel Zair's boot, gasping with every rise and fall of her hips, whimpering in pleasure as Tel Zair provided increasingly merciless pressure.

“You like debasing yourself for me, don't you,” Tel Zair purred.

“It's an honor...”

Tel Zair pulled her boot back, forcing the girl to squirm against the floor in order to follow. “Good. Then get me off. Use your fingers as you fuck me with your mouth- I need something inside me.”

Namara slipped one finger inside her superior's willing entrance: exploring, prodding, feeling to gently stroke her g-spot with the lightest circles. But that barely teased her, only made her arousal more uncontrollable. “I said fingers. Three at least. Your superior officer is not going to break.”

“Are you going to punish me?” Namara said hopefully, her eyes lighting up. “Hit me, for my insolence?” In response, Tel Zair slapped her across the face. She groaned, trembling with pleasure. “I won't make that mistake again, I promise,” she swore.

“You will,” Tel Zair replied, but not unkindly. “Now pay attention to my cunt.”

Three fingers, plunging in and out, stretched Tel Zair's inner walls. They crooked just right to press against the most sensitive spot inside her, right where she craved them. She groaned and gasped as she was finally filled in the way she needed. The young woman began enthusiastically swirling her tongue across Tel Zair's clit. She closed her eyes and imagined it was someone else on her knees before her. A slender, toned figure with small yet perfect breasts and a fencer's strong thighs.

 _Seagull, the traitor, on her knees, ignoring the demands of her own body to service her lord_ \- and she groaned as a fourth finger entered her on the next deep, steady plunge.

Seagull the traitor, where she belonged.

Tel Zair ground against her subordinate's upturned face as she came with a guttural moan. She pressed the toe of her boot into Namara’s crotch and lazily fingered herself and stroked her full breasts as she watched her gasping and squirming.

"Please, please- oh!" She threw her head back and writhed in pleasure as an orgasm ripped through her body. Finally her breathing calmed; she looked up at Tel Zair, teary and worshipful. "Thank you for allowing me to service you.”

"It's no trouble at all," Tel Zair replied. She sat on the bed to pull up her boxer shorts and button up her trousers; when she patted the mattress beside her, the young woman crawled over and climbed up to worshipfully rest her head on Tel Zair's lap. She stroked the hair she'd tugged on, the curve of the woman's delicate cheekbones, tracing the handprint of her earlier slap.  
Namara sighed contentedly as Tel Zair began to scritch her scalp with blunt fingernails, and a pang of longing rose within her. She’d touched Seagull like this. They could spend hours just luxuriating in the comfort of each other’s bodies; Seagull’s small size meant she fit perfectly in Tel Zair’s muscular arms. Whenever possible, Seagull always ran herself ragged working. It was always such a relief to just be able to pin her to the bed until she admitted she needed sleep.

Then she remembered the woman in her arms wasn’t Seagull, and that Seagull was no longer her ally.

“Do you require anything?” Tel Zair asked.   
"I wouldn't dream of you doing anything for me," Namara protested, but relented under Tel Zair's implacable gaze. "A glass of water would be nice- and perhaps a blanket."

Tel Zair rang the intercom.

“How may I serve you?” Reii asked. I mean, after I’m done navigating us through this asteroid field.

“I'm all right- but please provide your Namara with a glass of water and a blanket. And when you're done with that, run me a bath.” She slipped out of her coat and folded it around Namara, who curled contentedly into the fabric. “I want to look like myself again. Hair ornaments, face paint, and my stun pistol. Being a sex slave was one hell of a vacation, but now I have more important things on my mind.” Like the rebellion. Like revenge.


	9. Chapter 9

Chera and Virazo were sent out into the field the next day. Working with a badass team of the Sexarchate’s best switches, they were able to fuck several rebel squadrons into submission. One of Virazo’s favorite strategies was to deploy Chera as a distraction to horny, sexually liberated rebels. She loved the phantom sensation of the General stroking her hair and praising her as toned rebels stripped off their fatigues and sports bras to make use of her helplessly pinned-down body… while the rest of her unit overpowered the remaining rebel guards with passionate kisses and bared breasts, bound them hand and foot, and re-secured the local infrastructure.

Meanwhile, Seagull was attending almost daily meetings at High Command base while they discussed how to suppress the rebellion for good. One day, she arrived early for a meeting. Pacing through the hallways, she heard voices coming from Roxie’s lab.   
“Come on, sweetling. For every answer our lie detector says is true, it's a week taken off your chastity sentence. Your tits are so smooth and pretty, and your cock is gorgeous, too. Wouldn’t you like me to stroke it until you come?” That was Roxie, deceptively chirpy.   
“I told you. I don't know who gave me the key chip to my chastity belt. It was a dead drop and I never saw their face.” Seagull recognized this voice as belonging to a high-ranking Ra soldier, Liera.   
Delyla chimed in, stern and low. “And you have no alibi for that night?”  
“I couldn't sleep because I was turned on, so I got up in the middle of the night and took a cold bath. That's why I wasn't in my bunk when the security robot did its sweep.”  
“Then I guess, since everyone else was either asleep or fucking a superior, that only leaves you as the Ra who stole the keys. We'll have to give you a nice aphrodisiac before we put you in chastity.”  
“Shit,” said Liera, her voice wavering.   
Seagull poked her head in. “What's going on?”  
Delyla sighed and ran a hand through her shoulder-length red hair. “This high-ranking Ra stole the key chips to the chastity belts of several dissenters. We traced it back to her unit. She's the only one without an alibi.” And, to Liera- “Guess we'll have to tease that cock of yours until it starts leaking, because you've been a really naughty girl.”

“There must be some mistake,” Liera said. “I mean, I’m honored that High Command’s taken an interest in me, and I hope I get to eat you both out. But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Seagull nodded firmly. “This can't be right. I would no more suspect their loyalty to the Sexarchate than I would suspect my own. We should have the rooms of the other Ra in their group searched. No, actually... who's the neighbor whose bed is next to yours in the dormitory?”

“Her name is Meliora- oh fuck that feels amazing.” This interjection was because Roxie had just trailed her new vibrator across the head of her cock.

“It's suspicious that she didn't wake up when you came back from bathing. Let's search her public locker.”

It was empty except for a duffel bag, which held only toiletries and changes of clothes.

“I guess I'm screwed. Literally,” Liera said, absentmindedly reaching down to palm her still-swollen member.

“There was a trick I learned when I was in the rebellion,” Seagull explained, letting a smile cross her face. “If you want to plant an arousal gas bomb on a time-delayed release? Then it's really easy to give these lockers a false bottom. There's an inch or so beneath this panel... help me with this.” She clicked her fingers and gestured. Obediently, Liera dropped to her knees and pried the panel up, revealing a bag of tiny metallic wafers. Chastity belt unlock chips.

Roxie lifted up the bag, unzipped it, and took one out. She made a face.  
“Sticky.” She took a tiny light pointer from behind her ear and scanned the light over it. They glowed. “Genetic material. I think we have our culprit.” 

Delyla used the PA system to call Meliora over. She arrived out of breath, skidding to a halt, her dark curls escaping their braids. She was small for a Ra, with cute freckles.

“Meliora. Kneel for me, now.”

Meliora’s mouth dropped open. “What did I do?”

“You don't even need to ask me that question,” Delylah murmured. Gently guiding her to her feet, she gave her a deep, passionate kiss, then shoved her away, smirking. “Belt key chips? With your genetic material? You think the Sexarchate is stupid, don't you.”

“Shh, sweetheart. Just admit you're a rebel and everything is going to be okay,” Roxie said, almost kindly.

“I want to be a good girl,” she said, clearly confused by the conflicting orders.

“So you admit that you were naughty? Subversive? A sexual rebel who needs a lot of discipline? It's just a first transgression, so you'll get off easy with just a few spankings.”

“I wouldn't be a Ra if I didn't like spankings. But I don't understand why this is a punishment... why do I need to be punished?”

“Because there's evidence that you're a rebel.”

Meliora gasped. “But... I'm loyal to the Sexarchate! I hate the rebellion. And I would never, ever take off someone's chastity belt, not even my own.”

“Well, this bag was in your locker, and it has your DNA on it. Clearly, you realized the implications of what you'd done, panicked, and tried to frame someone else for the chastity belts you've already unlocked. But it's all right. If I can be remade into a loyal subject of the Sexarchate, anyone can,” Seagull said gently, nuzzling her face against Meliora’s cleavage as she hugged the confused soldier.

Meliora bent her head and reverently kissed Seagull’s hair. “I'm very pleased by your personal attention, but... I don't understand what I did wrong? Why you're saying I unlocked chastity belts?”

Roxie pulled Meliora away from Seagull and patted her on the head. “Don't worry, sweetling. By the time they're through with you, you'll understand everything. Help me deliver her to the nearest interrogation room.”

They frog-marched the confused but excited woman down the corridor.

“I think I've been set up- I think I've been framed- not that you have to stop walking, trust me, I'm always up for a good interrogation- will there be flogging?”

Even for a Ra series, Meliora was an adorably malleable machoistic slut. By the time she realized that her reputation was actually in danger, and stopped confessing to things she hadn't done just to get another spanking, the local enforcers would probably have been sent on a wild goose chase looking for surreptitious rebel orgies and illicit vibrator tech on all the local planets.  
With her Sexarchate wealth, Seagull had overseen the purchasing of many companies and subcontractors... including the janitorial company of Sexarchate base. On the pretense of inspecting the workers, she'd swiped a few stolen items containing the genetic material of Ra officers who'd just come back from being deployed during the rebellion, then ran quick DNA scans on their owners.  
Sometimes revolution meant seducing your enemies, and sometimes it meant keeping vials of frozen sperm in a vacumn-suit in the emergency airlock by your quarters.

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” Liera said. Her voice was soft with admiration, but there was a hint of confusion in her wide-eyed gaze. She’d been a rebel sympathizer when it looked like the rebellion was going to win, feeding them information on troop movements and chastity belt unlock codes. And she knew that Seagull had known.

Seagull nodded. “It’s my duty to support those who are loyal.” She held Liera’s gaze until the young woman saluted, ducked her head, and hurried away. But there was nothing selfless about her motives. She figured she might need a way to contact the new rebellion eventually. And if the rest of Sexarchate High Command got suspicious of their new member, if they started sniffing around for evidence of rebel sexual activity within the base… well, then she had someone to throw under the bus.


	10. Chapter 10

For the past several weeks, Tel Zair and her new rebellion had been zipping around the outskirts and back lines of the Sexarchate, disabling the denial towers that were the core of their power. Today they had landed on a little scrub-and-sand planetoid.

When the soldier guarding the outpost saw Tel Zair, the first thing they did was call for backup. But the first thing Reii had done was hack into their communications network and disable it from orbit.

Tel Zair's backup took out the sniper up on the observation tower with a horniness dart. When Tel Zair, safely behind the cover of low scrub, sneaked a glance through her goggles, she saw that they'd dropped their tranquilizer rifle in favor of humping their discarded clothes.  
Smirking, she shouldered her stun baton and headed for the soldier.

They rushed to meet Tel Zair, and flung their arms about her as they entered into the heated, passionate kiss that was the formal outset of most sexual duels. They tasted like vanilla and mint; when they pulled away, there was an intent look in their deep brown eyes. “Whoever you are, rebel, my training in the sensual arts is unsurpassed. And so is my self-control. I come for no one but my superior officer.”

“I don't need to make you come,” Tel Zair said, even as she stroked the soldier's chest over their uniform. “I just need to get you out of my way.”

While she'd distracted the soldier with kisses and embraces, Reii had snuck around behind them and cuffed their ankles. Tel Zair pulled away; the soldier tried to follow, but stumbled, barely bracing for a fall into the dust.

“What are the access codes to the inner chambers of this facility?”

The soldier scowled, but obediently recited a series of numbers. As Tel Zair and Reii headed inside, she heard them gasp. “Wait! You can't just leave me here. I thought you were going to conquer my body with pleasure?” There was an adorable hopeful note in their voice.

Tel Zair sighed. She figured the civilians inside the denial generator would capitulate easily. “All right. Reii, let them sit on your face or something.”

“I'll never surrender, rebel,” the soldier replied cheerfully, punctuating the statement with a cheeky wink as they unzipped their uniform jacket, revealing a khaki lace bralette.

Reii elegantly settled down beside them. “You sure about that?”  
Tel Zair left them to their battle.

Inside, two young women were sitting on loudly buzzing edging machines, which looked like a cross between a pommel horse (with the handles on the front) and a vibrating body pillow. The machines were just close enough together that they could reach out and hold each other's hands. As Tel Zair watched from the shadows, she watched one woman squeeze the other's hand reassuringly. 

"This is what happens," said a Sexarchate representative in a tightly buttoned up uniform, who was circling them slowly with a riding crop, "when you defy the will of the Sexarchate and have more orgasms than your alloted number per month." She smacked the crop across one woman's breasts. "Open your eyes and look at your lover, Sorcha. She's suffering just the same way you are because you were horny and careless and couldn't wait."

Sorcha was more petite than her girlfriend, with short dark pigtails and perky tits. Biting her lip, she opened her dark eyes, glanced at the woman beside her- who tried to offer a reassuring smile, but just ended up moaning. 

"Fuck, you're so beautiful..."

"Don't say things like that," Sorcha whispered, squeezing the handle on her edging machine tightly. "I'm having a hard time holding on as it is..." 

The Sexarchate official sneered and pushed some buttons on a remote she held. "You'll hold fast, or you'll be punished." this new pattern ramped slowly up before cascading appropriately back down.

"It's okay, babe, you can do it," her lover whispered, running her thumb over their joined hands in soothing circles. But Sorcha cried out and tried to arch away from what looked like relentless vibrations. 

The Sexarchate official rolled her eyes. "I'll get the numbing cream," she said, and headed towards a closet at the end of the room. At last, Tel Zair had a clear shot. She hoisted her stun gun and fired.

Shock crossed the official's face as she looked around, touching the dart in her neck. "The Rebellion? Here? But..."

"In the flesh, sweetheart," Tel Zair replied as conciousness slipped from the official's eyes and she slumped to the ground in a dead faint. 

"Wow! Maritte, look- it's Tel Zair! You're from the Rebellion... and your boobs really are that big in person." Sorcha said with an awed grin, now wiggling openly against her edging machine. "Can you uncuff our legs, please?"

"And can you get us off when you're doing that?" the other woman, Maritte, asked. "They've been edging us for at least a week... we even have monitors and electrodes hooked up to us when we sleep to wake us up if we have any erotic dreams."

"I'm always willing to help some new recruits," Tel Zair said, smiling back. She picked up the remote the Sexarchate official had dropped. "Any requests?"

"Anything steady. Anything strong," Maritte said at once. 

Sorcha nodded eagerly. "As long as it doesn't turn off just when I'm ready!"

Having been a brainwashed sex slave for a few months, Tel Zair wasn't 100% caught up on the latest Sexarchate technology. She frowned at the remote control before pushing a few buttons at random. The strong vibration was audible.

“Ohyesthisis-“ Maritte was barely able to say before collapsing forward with a groan of pleasure.

But her girlfriend didn’t seem to be having as good a time. "It's too much, please," Sorcha gasped. "I can't... turn it off!"

Maritte ran to her at once, kissing her neck and stroking her hair, and Sorcha leaned limply against her. 

"Oversensitive?" Tel Zair asked sympathetically. 

Sorcha shook her head, close to tears. "I can't... I keep thinking of that Sexarchate official, how much trouble she said we'd be in if we got off. All the little mantras she tried to beat into us, like 'I must not thrust, I will not spill.”

"How about my mouth on your cunt? Would that make you feel good?" Maritte asked.

"I'm really overstimulated, and the vibe is too much, but I still..." She ducked her head shyly, unable to finish the sentence.

"Asking for what you want is the fastest way to get it," Tel Zair advised. 

"Okay. I want my amazing girlfriend to get me off," she said, and giggled. 

“I got you, babe. Spread your legs for me?”

When Sorcha obeyed, Maritte knelt in front of the bench. She started stroking her girlfriend with long, firm touches.

“Honestly? I'm not sorry I broke the Sexarchate's rules for you. I'm sorry I got you in trouble, but if you hadn't been put through this kind of tough denial torture? I'd do it all again, go down on you in the back closet of our job site when we were on our break. No regrets. Not for touching you. Not for the way I got you off.”

The way she held Sorcha’s gaze, dominating her with words alone, reminded Tel Zair of the past. Of memories she wanted only to forget.

At the first touch of her girlfriend's mouth on her swollen, oversensitive cunt, Sorcha gasped and almost toppled backwards off the bench. "Woah," she said, dazed. 

"Do you want me to help?" Tel Zair asked sympathetically. 

"Umm, yes!"

She ended up behind Sorcha, resting her chin on the young woman's soft hair, stroking and cupping her breasts. "Look down," she murmured in Sorcha's ear. "Look at what your girlfriend's doing to you. Look how much she loves eating you out. All you have to do is breathe and feel."

Sorcha glanced down; Tel Zair felt her take a shuddery uneven breath. "Oh, wow," she said, and moaned, arching into Tel Zair's firm hold as she finally experienced a blissful orgasm.

Someday, Tel Zair swore, she’d be able to make someone come without reflexively thinking of the woman who’d betrayed her and broken her heart.

"You know," Maritte said, wiping her face off with her arm as she hopped up on the bench to wrap her arms around her now-exhausted girlfriend, "you've both been on our 'celebrities we want to bang' list since, like, the day the rebellion started. We'd be proud to serve under you, and I mean that in more than one capacity."

"Hey, good one," Sorcha said with a laugh, and kissed the little freckles on Maritte's shoulders. 

Tel Zair loved being able to take care of her troops and the people she saved, loved seeing people blissed-out and sated and content. 

"Seriously, though! I think like, fifty percent of the people on any Sexarchate planet who are into girls want to bang you. And then the other fifty percent of people who like girls-"

"'Ritte," Sorcha said, a note of quiet concern in her voice, but Maritte kept going, blithely unaware of her girlfriend's cringe. 

"-the other fifty percent want Seagull to put on her parade uniform and defeat them in single combat and then... oh, shit, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"It's fine," Tel Zair said, forcing a smile. Except it wasn’t at all fine. How could it be fine when your lover had left you sleeping and hijacked your private shuttle, then gone directly to your worst enemies and offered them everything? “Let’s find you two some clothes. The plan is to hit four more of these outposts by the end of the week.”

“I saw on the news that this new Sexarchate military leader, Chera something, was taking back a lot of areas under rebel control. Are you worried?” Maritte asked as they walked back to the shuttle.

“Of course not. I planned to sacrifice those planets back all along. Our real plan is to disable the denial towers and take out their orgasm suppression technology.”

“Wow,” Maritte said with a giggle, tossing her hair. “Sexy and smart.”

“And good at dueling!” Sorcha chirped. “Maybe you can find someone to teach us.”

Tel Zair smiled indulgently down at them. “I’ll see what I can do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over four thousand views... wow! I never imagined that the silly smut I wrote for a laugh would get that kind of attention. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this story so far. I'm glad I could provide you with some entertainment.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so we're about 3/4 through the story now, thank you to all the readers who've stuck with this

Chera had expected the general would want to continue her campaign of drawing rebels out of captured villages. But today, as she looked at a map of which powers controlled which areas of the galaxy, she felt the general shaking her head.

“Fuck,” Virazo whispered. “I’ve missed something so obvious.”

“What is it?”

“We’ve been looking at… population centers. Areas in the inner parts of the empire. But adjust the display for me. Show just the power generators that run on denial.” Chera swiped the buttons and gasped in realization. The rebels were trying to create a ring of sabotaged generators, surrounding the Sexarchate and limiting the range of the denial ray.

“Tell me something, Chera. How would you defeat them?”

“Umm.” She looked at the glowing integers flickering across her screen. “Well, we outnumber them, don’t we? We could just throw troops at the problem until they get sexually exhausted.”

“No, there’s a more efficient way to solve things, and with fewer resources.”

Again Chera studied the data. But she wasn’t sure what the general meant.   
“Their generators are still tapped into Sexarchate parameters,” Virazo prompted. “Which means-“  
“By transmitting the right overload sequence of forced multiple orgasms, we could bring down a whole section and weaken them.”  
“Good girl,” Virazo said, and Chera beamed.

They touched down at a Rebel outpost near the generator. Chera spotted one guard on duty, and they confidently approached.

“So, they only left one guard here to look after the whole base?” Virazo quipped using Chera’s voice as they walked across the sandy scrub.  
“That's because they only needed one,” the guard shot back. “You think Sexarchate soldiers have the self-control to hold back their orgasms? You've never met a rebel. We eat each other out as a post-breakfast snack.”

They circled each other, boots leaving prints in the sand. “If you don’t think I’m powerful, if you don’t think I have self-control, then you don't know who I am. I'm the General Virazo Gold, the Sexarchate's most powerful weapon. The fact is, this base was still set to run on Sexarchate software. If I make you come within base limits, I can shut out the safeguards and hack into recent Rebel transmissions.”

The rebel scoffed, her hands on her hips. “Fuck me all you want- it would be huge bragging rights to say I resisted a Sexarchate General and a Ra soldier. But you'll never wring an orgasm from my body, no matter how passionately I'm stimulated.”  
Chera chuckled. “We'll see about that. I have the general in my body, and you can’t defeat me.”   
They’d exchanged the formal kiss, then stripped off their uniforms, spread a tarp on the ground, and wrestled fiercely. Chera had expected to be able to bring the rebel down with a few slaps to her tits, then let the General take over. But the rebel was taller than Chera. She had overpowered Chera with her greater weight and longer limbs. Now she pushed Chera down and knelt on top of her.

“How often do people tell you how gorgeous you are? That you're a good soldier, an asset to the Sexarchate. That you have a beautiful body. And those dark, dark eyes. I want to see the look that passes through them when I make you come.”

Chera writhed under her, gasping as the rebel penetrated her wet cunt with several fingers. When her clit was rubbed, she arched and whimpered. _Oh, no..._  
“Is that it, do you like being called a good soldier? Do you like being called beautiful? Because watching you struggle to remember your training is gorgeous. I'm so turned on. But unlike you, I can hold back my orgasm.”

“Please. Vi, you need to help me. I'm so turned on by everything she's saying. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold back,” Chera thought at the General.

In response, Vi's sensory memory burned through her. She was on her knees, crawling along a sterile spaceship corridor, her- Vi's- huge breasts swaying with every movement. There was a cold metal collar around her neck, connected to a deceptively delicate-looking chain leash. The chain was also connected to her cock.

Although the humiliation aroused her, made her heart pound as she brainstormed turning the tables eventually, slamming her aching cock into everyone who'd been responsible for her capture, the spiked ring bit cruelly into the sensitive underside of her cock, making her gasp and wince with every movement. She wouldn't be able to get off, no matter how much they teased her.

Too bad she was determined not to break.

Chera breathed as the memory seeped into her, the sense of a cold, implacable outside force preventing her body from letting go. She could control herself now with the memory of that pain.

“Still close?” the rebel teased.  
Chera shook her head, smirking. “It's your turn.” She pounced on the rebel and was able to subdue her.

The rebel was absolutely sopping wet; Chera's fingers came away slick and dripping from just the slightest brush, and pushing two crooked fingers in met no resistance.

“Oh fuck,” she gasped, her body thrashing involuntarily. Chera felt Virazo's power, her delight, the satisfaction that burned through her. She was nothing more than the tool that Virazo was using to wring an orgasm out of this rebel- she wouldn't even get any pleasure out of it herself- and being so inconsequential was a huge thrill.

The rebel moaned. “Oh- oh... I'm coming!” She clenched and tensed rapidly around Chera's fingers in a fascinating pattern of unbridled ecstasy, moaning her pleasure. At last she pulled away, leaning casually back on her elbows. Nearby, the doors of the base popped open.

“Who are you? Are you really the General?” she said, breathless.

“You know who I am,” Virazo said with a smirk. Chera put her pants back on and strode into the base. There were still a few levels of decryption, but Virazo- who'd had years to study in the Obelisk- knew enough to help her get past them. 

“Plan: Raid on Bird Villa. What's that? It sounds like the name of some house,” murmured Virazo.

“Be patient, I'm scrolling down,” Chera said. She was starting to feel worried as she read: _the aim of the raid is to capture the traitor Seagull Scourge and subsequently encourage her to watch a rebel orgy while hooked up to various monitors. This procedure will either allow us to figure out if Seagull has been brainwashed, or be the first step in analyzing her current kinks and figuring out how to turn her back to our side. The raid will take place at..._

Chera's gaze flitted over the date. Then she gasped. “Vi! That's today! Seagull is in danger of being seduced by rebels- should we tell High Command?”

She felt Vi shake her head. “No way- think about it. They wouldn't strike at Sextopia, the heart of Sexarchate power, unless they were confident they'd be able to penetrate so far into enemy territory. They have a high-ranking traitor of their own, maybe someone even in High Command, or close to them. If they know they've been found out, they'd just try a different scheme. No, the best chance we have of saving Seagull from unauthorized orgasm at the hands, tongues, and cocks of her enemies is if we go to her mansion right now.”

For a moment, just a moment, Chera frowned. She couldn't totally follow the General's logic. But she knew it was best to be obedient, especially since the General knew more about strategy. “Okay. Next stop, Sextopia.”

Outside, the rebel soldier was still sleeping. Chera raided a nearby vending machine and left out a sports drink and protein bar so she'd have something to nourish her body when she woke up, because it was always good to look after your defeated enemies. Then she got into her shuttle, set a course for Sextopia, and blasted off. 


	12. Chapter 12

The rebel soldier stayed asleep for a few minutes after. Then she opened her eyes, pulled off her wig, and scrubbed off her contouring, revealing her true identity: Tel Zair. After sending and receiving a few quick text messages through a secret channel, she called Reii.

“I have new intel,” she told her subordinate.

“And?”

Tel Zair smiled. “The raid on Seagull's villa is a go.”

Reii sighed. “Permission to speak bluntly, milord? Like; really bluntly?”

“Granted.”

“I'm concerned that you're putting the entire rebellion in danger and wasting valuable jump fuel purely because you want to go hate-fuck your ex.”

Tel Zair's expression didn't change. “Thank you, Reii. Your comment has been heard and taken into consideration.”

Reii lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

“I've considered it. Still going to go hate-fuck my ex.”

“All right. I just hope this is part of some plan.”

“Don't worry. It is.”

It just wasn't her plan. Years ago, when she'd been in her first civil service position, struggling to figure out how she could change the system from within, a woman had approached her in a bar with a long-term plan for changing the galaxy.  
  


“I don't know how often we'll be able to speak... but I need you to trust me. Because you're going to help me start a revolt.”

Tel Zair had felt fascinated and confused all at once, but she also had a healthy amount of skepticism. Revolt against the Sexarchate? It didn’t seem possible. “And what if I didn't trust you? What if I turned you into the authorities right now?”

“It wouldn't matter. They've already ripped me out of my body and put me in suspended animation for daring to liberate the seventh galaxy with an orgy. I only have a few minutes remaining before my host wakes up, for instance. There's nothing I have left to lose.”

The General had just transmitted a message in Morse code while finger-fucking her: _I watched Seagull save your agent on the High Command base. You need to save her from herself._ _  
_It felt almost too dangerous to hope that Seagull somehow still cared about the rebellion. That Seagull somehow still cared about her. But Tel Zair would follow the orders she’d been given to the very last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment if you like this, i guess?


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit this broke 5k views!!!! wild!!! tysm!

Seagull sat at her desk, scrolling through holographic displays. There were only two things that could reliably soothe Seagull's racing thoughts: sex with an element of danger, and complex socio-economic math. She'd ruined the first for herself, but the second would always be loyal. She was deep into some important budgeting when a sound caught her attention. The sound of a gas leak.

Except there weren’t any buildings on Sextopia that still used gas for power. At once, she jumped to her feet.   
  
“AI, contact security. I believe this section of the building to be under chemical attack.”  
Silence.   
“AI?” She tried. No answer. Just the hiss of gas. 

Her legs felt weirdly unsteady, but she staggered out into the hallway. None of her usual guard was present. The sound of escaping air was even louder here. At first she thought the strange feeling spreading through her was the way her body just normally confused fear and adrenaline with arousal. But then she realized that she wasn't just turned on- she felt the distinct sensation of ornate metal clamps weighting her nipples, even though she was still fully clothed. When she smelled the spring-green floral scent of rose absolute, she knew what was going on.  
The attackers didn't want her dead- they wanted to capture her alive. But they would almost certainly succeed.

Because of the infrastructure involved in creating and maintaining a standing army of hot clones, the vast majority of warfare in the universe was now conducted through hot sex: making your opponents so desperate that they'd swear over to your side in exchange for an orgasm, leaving them too sensually exhausted to put up a fight, or distracting them with orgies while you just snuck in and took their stuff. Plus, a defeated enemy was much less likely to resent their opponent if they'd gotten some amazing kinky sex and/or orgasms out of the loss. Arousal gas was a common weapon, although useless in dispelling civilian riots. And the scent of roses?   
That meant it was spiked with hallucinogens.

Gentle fingers traced over her nipples. Seagull reached up absentmindedly, wanting to squeeze her tits, to indicate the rough way she craved being touched, but pulled back to lucidity.  
 _I shouldn't be touching myself right now. I don't deserve pleasure- and if what’s left of the rebellion is out for my blood, I have to escape._

She moaned openly as intangible hands began to caress her workout-sore thighs. Strong hands, practiced hands, in a confident way that reminded her of Tel Zair’s touch. Still, leaning heavily against the wall, gritting her teeth, she pulled herself along step by step.  
 _Need to block out everything. Need to keep moving._ Her buttoned-up uniform was too hot and constricting against her skin. Although her fingers felt clumsy, she managed to undo her blazer as she walked, along with the first several buttons of her blouse. Seeing her tits made her realize how much she wanted someone to slap them. That made her think of everything else she wanted- and even though she was making steady progress, the visceral touch hallucinations returned in earnest. Silk sliding along the juncture between her legs, enthralling, insistent, the pressure on her labia not quite reaching her clit. With every step she tried to take, the teasing sensations only grew. She squeezed herself through her trousers and pressed down hard. But it didn’t feel as real as the hallucinations of a tongue lightly circling her clit in patterns complex as any battle, not even when she tried to provide the friction she needed.

_Maybe I should just sit down and rest for a minute._

Except once she’d slid down against the wall, it was so easy to just stay there, feeling the phantom caresses of hands stroking her torso, fingernails moving across her breasts.

The world was a pink haze of roses and lust. Vaguely, she remembered that there was something she was supposed to be doing. Or not doing. But those problems belonged to the Seagull of the past, the one whose mind was constantly whirring with problems and equations, guilt and necessity. 

She was still on the floor, desperately grinding against the hallway’s rough stones- the texture abraded her cheek, but felt blessedly cool against her needy breasts- when she saw the figure in the gas mask moving towards her.

I should go, Seagull thought. Really. I need to be running- I need to be on my guard.

Except. She recognized those slightly scuffed boots with crossed neon laces. That unflinching gaze. She lifted her head. “Reii?”

Once, the tall androgynous person had been her personal attache, defending her as she scouted the battlefield. Now…

“Hello, traitor,” Reii said coldly, and sprayed something that smelled awful into Seagull’s face. The world went black.


	14. Chapter 14

Chera landed her small shuttle on Seagull’s lawn. She rushed across the grass, kicked the door down, and ran inside at once. At the first whiff of roses, she activated her gas mask. Heavy boots thumped down a nearby hallway, and she peeked around a corner.

Everyone knew Tel Zair was a brainwashed sex slave in a secret facility. Everyone knew she would never be a threat to Sexarchate hierarchy again.

But there she was, striding over the villa’s marble floors. Chera wanted to jump out and challenge her- she knew she’d lose, but she’d never back down from a fight.

“Stop,” Virazo said quietly. The word echoed around her skull.

Crouching behind a pillar, Chera struggled to maintain control over her own body. “What do you mean, stop? She’s an enemy of the Sexarchate! We have to-“

“There is no we. I’m an enemy of the Sexarchate as well.”

Chera wanted to punch the marble column and kick the hand-blown vases off their display plinths. She wanted to tear down the oil paintings of grapes. But she was a Ra, and her training enabled her to stay quiet and still. “Why?” she whispered inwardly. “General, I trusted you.”

In response, the knowledge Virazo had accumulated throughout her long existence burst into her mind like a firework.

Sexarchate guards in riot armor and gas masks bursting into underground kink parties to slap everyone there with fines they couldn’t afford to pay.

People changing their pronouns because the people on Sextopia couldn’t pronounce them, and no longer feeling at peace with themselves as a result.

The Sexarchate burning books that questioned their authority, the smoke rising towards the open sky like a beacon.

People crying as they were torn from their lovers’ arms.

The stone floor felt cold under Chera’s hand as she processed the pain of everyone she helped to hurt. She knew she couldn’t ask these people to comfort her. She couldn’t ask anyone to comfort her. Nothing she’d done had been good, and she’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of her life.

But she could work to change the world.

“And you’ve had your life damaged by the Sexarchate as well, didn’t you?”

It was true. But Chera felt almost too frightened to put it in words.

“Did you ever want to be anything else but a soldier?”

“I didn't have the option. Ra series, like all clonepools, are decanted at sixteen and acclimated into society after two years in a training compound. It never occurred to me to desire what I couldn't have.”

“I think there's a great deal it never occurred to you to desire. Think about it. Every detail of your existence has been decided by someone else. Did you want to burn books or destroy rebel ammunition, for instance?”

“No. But I wanted praise and needed to survive.”

Defective Ra clones could rarely be assimilated into civilian life, and were often decommissioned entirely. She'd calculated their humiliation or her death, and sheer animal instinct had imbued her with a graceless need to stay alive.

“Even mundane things,” Virazo continued. “If you wanted to eat a pound of sweets, or wear red instead of blue. Your life is circumscribed by the desires of a stranger who doesn't even care about you as a person.”

“I can't help it. I'm Ra conditioned. If we don't have someone to obey-“ Chera squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and hugged herself, aware that her breath was ragged with panic. She'd watched an educational documentary, compiled from found footage recorded by two stranded Ra soldiers, about what happened to Ra-series who lacked a leader. They grew listless, unmotivated. Activities such as building a campsite or putting on gloves seemed meaningless. Routine lost its ability to soothe, as did pain. Without orders, everything slipped away. Ra needed structure and discipline, or they fell into utter misery. Chera didn’t want to be in that helpless, abandoned state.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, running a hand through her hair. She rolled up her sleeve and sank her teeth into her forearm, which did nothing to soothe her mounting panic.  
In her mind, Virazo's hands locked around her wrists like cuffs. At once Ra instinct kicked in, and Chera stood at attention, her heartbeat slowing. They shared a body; Virazo couldn't afford to let her suffer.

“I know you want to be a good girl, Chera. There is enough mercy left in me to not take that away from you- but I am fighting for a world whether people can choose for themselves whether they want to be good.”

“Tell me more,” Chera said. She picked herself up and tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Obedience is important. Valuable. Hell, it's fucking hot. But without the contrasting possibility of disobedience, it's meaningless, stripped of its power. I'd grant everyone the opportunity to choose to obey.”

The wolf in the Ra insignia didn't have the ability to remove its collar. But it could decide who held its leash.

“Understood,” Chera whispered to the near-immortal heretic inhabiting her brain. “Then I choose you.” She ran out from behind the pillar to stand in front of Tel Zair.

The warlord glanced down at her, vaguely puzzled. “Who are you?”

“Chera Six. I'd like to join up, milord.” The thrill of rebellion buzzed through her. No Ra in living memory had ever done something so naughty, so daring.

Virazo took momentary control of her vocal cords: “Well, I'd like to join up. This Ra has graciously agreed to come along for the ride.”

A smile spread over Tel Zair's face, and she bowed deeply. “General. It's a pleasure to speak with you again.”

“You two know each other?” Chera asked, startled.

“Of course,” Vi replied coolly. “How else do you think Tel Zair could have gotten in here? I transmitted the codes to her when we touched.”

They'd used her as a pawn, these two powerful women. It was a masterful strategy. She couldn't bring herself to feel upset.

“Chera, walk with my guards,” Tel Zair said, gesturing to two women who were scanning the hallway. Chera ran to catch up.  
They made their way out of the palace and up onto a waiting ship.

“My name is Reii,” the first guard said, “and this is-“

“Namara,” finished her shorter companion with a shy wave. Her hair looked just like Chera’s, dark and smooth.

“You're a Ra series? I didn't know there were any Ra in the rebellion...”

“I was the first. Come with us and we'll get you fitted out with new gear. Don’t worry, I promise you’ll be safe. “

But even as Chera fell into step beside them, worry lingered: in service of a mission, Ra could lie.

  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter, thanks for reading!!

At some point, Seagull knew, she'd been transferred from a small shuttle to a larger ship, possibly after several hyperspace jumps. She'd been stripped of her trousers by a capable knife and steady hands, and left cuffed to the wall and blindfolded in a carpeted room. The quiet humiliation of her former subordinate's sneers as she rutted against the floor had made her want to touch herself, but she was too busy trying to figure out what was going on.

Footsteps. There was someone in the room with her. A breath, and then the person spoke, their voice low and intense.

“I've been analyzing your actions. It's a subtle pattern, but you've been promoting loyalty over qualifications, then pushing for leniency on captured rebels. And you let someone who you knew was a rebel go free. Are you a double agent for the rebellion?”

The question was so blunt, she almost laughed. “Whoever you are, do you think I trust you enough to tell you anything?”

“Then tell me this. What do you want, Seagull Scourge?”

Wanting was swirled in with guilt and betrayal. With the knowledge that, no matter what she did, she was being dishonest towards someone who trusted her. “I'm a traitor. I ought to be punished, shouldn't I? Whoever you are, tie me standing and whip me as hard as you can.”

“All right.” She was pulled to her feet by her hair and led across the room. Just for a moment, her blindfold slipped, and she was filled with irrational hope. It was easy to copy features, but it was a lot harder to echo body language and facial expressions accurately; if you knew someone, there were always tells.  
And none of her instincts had said the woman before her wasn't Tel Zair.

As Seagull raised her arms to be tied, she winced and tried to rub at her neck, faking a muscle spasm.

“Idiot slouching mathematician,” muttered the person who was almost certainly Tel Zair. “Don't move-“

Seagull's eyes rolled back as strong fingers dug into her muscles, thumbs circling over the tense knot until it broke up. It hurt a great deal, but it worked.

“I watched you on the security cameras of your mansion. You still- you always curl into a comma the moment you think you're alone.”

That one tiny single-syllable slip was all she needed. The way Seagull sat when no one was watching had always sent Tel Zair into auntie mode, to the point where she'd threatened to not bind Seagull to a chair unless it was a massage chair. If anyone could figure out how to beat the Sexarchate's brainwashing drugs... well, Seagull wasn't the only person who always had multiple backup plans. But she'd gotten so good at pushing her emotions away that she didn't even know how to feel right now.

“Eyes closed. Do you remember the last thing the Warlord said to you?”

“That I was hers,” Seagull said as steady hands re-tied her blindfold. “That as much as I pretended to belong to the Sexarchate, I would never be free of you- of her.”

“Tell me where your loyalties lie, traitor,” Tel Zaire snarled, her voice deceptively soft as she cracked the flogger. Before Seagull could calculate a response, she brought the leather down across her back. Pain flared in her senses, and she gasped, trying to arch away. 

Now there was nothing to shield her from herself; now the world consisted of her helpless body and Tel Zaire’s strong hands.

For several years, since the very beginning of her plan, Seagull had hid her emotions behind a mask. Even with Tel Zaire, in the back of her mind she’d been counting the days until her inevitable betrayal. Nothing could make her break. She was too afraid of herself to let her true vulnerability show.

With every blow, with every scream that she bit back, every time she tensed her muscles, a bit more of the mask chipped away.

The Sexarchate could rule her. But Tel Zaire could make her want to be ruled- because she loved her, and always had.

A moment of hesitation. As if Tel Zaire had lost interest in her. As if she was alone in the darkness… as if Tel Zaire was gone for good.

Then the flogger slammed down again, the pain even sharper than before. And Seagull’s mask cracked.

“Only you,” she whispered, weeping. “It was only ever you… I love you, Tel Zair. “

Tel Zaire unbound her and carried her easily to the bed, where she collapsed, helpless, into the familiar embrace. For a long time, all she could do was ugly cry, burrow into the smallness of herself as Tel Zair’s arms wrapped tightly around her.

“All I wanted was to save my people. And I can’t do that without being part of the Sexarchate, not unless I bring it down from within, it’s the only way I can keep them safe… I need them to be safe. And I had to sacrifice you to win their loyalty…”

“You were trying to bring down the Sexarchate from within,” Tel Zaire repeated, deceptively calm.

Seagull couldn’t tell what the warlord was thinking. She swallowed, blinking back tears. “Y-yes?”

“Come here,” Tel Zaire said, pulling her closer with a hand in her hair, and her lips met Seagull’s own. 

At first light, then decisive and firm, it was a soft, warm kiss. The sort you could lose yourself in. With Tel Zair surrounding her, Seagull wanted to be lost. “My beautiful traitor,” she murmured, brushing the tears from Seagull’s cheeks, resting her forehead against Seagull’s own. “You’re such a good girl. So brave, so strong.”

“I missed you,” Seagull managed, still weeping. She was starting to hiccup. She couldn’t remember ever having hiccuped in her life. This was what Tel Zaire did to her: gave her the fragilities of ordinariness. She wasn’t a strategist or a ruler, just a woman loved and helpless in another woman’s arms. “I thought I’d never see you again. That I’d fucking destroyed you.”

“I know. But it’s not that easy to get rid of me.”

“You’re here- you’re real-“ Seagull gasped, and buried her face in Tel Zair’s neck. She let herself be held, let Tel Zair stroke her back and murmur comfortingly to her. Eventually, something in her body recognized that she was safe, that there was no more need for tears. She just breathed in her lover’s familiar scent and breathed out peace. After a while, they sat together in a companionable silence, just enjoying the warmth of each other.

Then Seagull realized that she was turned on as fuck. The marks on her back from earlier still stung a little, and the adrenaline of her kidnapping and survival was barely ebbing. Her body remembered Tel Zair. Remembered what Tel Zair could do to her. Biting her lower lip, she shifted subtly, trying to ease the pressure on her throbbing clit.

Tel Zair chuckled and tilted Seagull’s chin upwards with a finger to look into her eyes. “Come on. After all this time, if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s the way you act when you’re turned on and trying to hide it.”

Seagull tried to find something diplomatic and noncommittal to say. But, at least in her lover’s presence, she couldn’t find her mask again. “I’m not sure if you still care about me enough to have sex with me, or if you feel bitter about what I did to you.”

“Does it make you feel any better to know that I would have done the same for my people, if the plan had occurred to me? We are ruthless people in ruthless times, you and I; we must never be ashamed of the monsters we are.”

She would have let Tel Zair betray her, and gladly. And not even for the greater good. Just to be of use to the woman she loved.

Tel Zair beckoned her forwards and kissed her, caressing her breasts in motions that at once soothed and aroused. She was frowning when she pulled back, though. “Seagull, have you been eating?”

Seagull attempted a defense: “Yes.”

“Right. Have you been eating three square meals a day, let alone snacks?”

“No,” she admitted. “I’ve been busy… and grieving. I missed you too much.”

Tel Zair tapped her on the nose. “Well, that changes now. I’m going to go get some things, and I’ll send someone in with a strawberry protein shake. I want you to at least make an effort at finishing most of it by the time I return. You’ll need your strength, seeing as how you’re going to get well and thoroughly fucked.” With that, she shrugged her coat on over her bare breasts, tousled Seagull’s already-messy bob, and left the room.

For the first time in months, Seagull actually had an appetite. She was able to finish the entire shake, and actually tasted its sweet, creamy texture. Subsequently, however, she was left to herself.

During her time in the training academy, Seagull had picked up many little exercises which she used to retain her habitual control over mind and body. She went through them now. Prime numbers up to 907, while balancing on alternate feet. The Fibonnaci sequence to 317811; she envisioned it spiraling outwards while forcing herself to do slow, deliberate pushups. After that she just paced, hands clasped tightly behind her back to keep them from wandering down to her cunt. Tel Zair hadn’t said she couldn’t pleasure herself, but she knew the warlord’s preferences, and how easily she could read- and subsequently humiliate- Seagull for an impatient act. She was about to risk venturing out into the ship’s corridors when the door flew open and Tel Zair strode in.

Seagull, awed, fell to her knees.

Tel Zair had changed from her utilitarian battle uniform that she’d been wearing earlier, and was dressed in the full regalia of her office. Pieces of sharp tusk and shell were braided into her long, dark hair: slashes of bright paint cut across her strong cheekbones. And somehow, amidst all the chaos of kidnapping Seagull, she’d managed to recover her full formal uniform from where it had been confiscated and put on display. “Undress me,” she commanded.

And that was when she saw it: the huge, unmistakable bulge in Tel Zair’s trousers. Her mouth watered and her cunt clenched as she carefully palmed it through the fabric.

“Careful,” Tel Zair said hoarsely. “I don’t want to come until I have this inside you... I want this to be special.”

A few achingly long minutes later, Seagull was bent forward as Tel Zair’s fingers slid into her from behind.

“Every time you fuck one of your precious Sexarchate leaders,” Tel Zair murmured, almost casually, “you’re going to remember this. My fingers shoved up your cunt. You’re going to remember me and the way I made you come; you’re going to remind yourself that you’re my instrument, my weapon, and however faithfully you pretend to obey your orders, you were mine first.” She scissored her fingers before slipping in a third on the next thrust. Seagull whimpered, her eyes rolling back. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. For once, there was no room in her complex strategist’s mind for the logistics of empire, the necessary brutality she orchestrated in order to survive. The world had narrowed to the simple existence of Tel Zair’s lube-slick hand.

“Straddle me,” Tel Zair commanded, peeling off her boxer shorts with habitual grace. “And sit on this.”

The cock that jutted proudly from Tel Zair’s curly pelt was as much a marvel of industrialized civilization as any vaccine: glittery silicone with a subtly ridged upper shaft and flared knot at the base. As Seagull regarded it, it began to glow in the national colors of Tel Zair’s home planet, which was extra as fuck in a typical Tel Zair way. Her heart fluttered when she glanced up and met Tel Zair’s lazy, predatory smile, the smile of an uncontested ruler. The muscles in her thighs, strong from fencing, almost gave out as she lowered herself onto the strap-on. Even though she’d already been finger-fucked open, the increasing stretch still startled her.

“Fuck,” Seagull managed, gasping. “This is… really, really big.”

“I can shrink it, if you want- it’s nanotechnology-“

“No,” Seagull said at once. “I want everything I engulf from now on to seem vaguely underwhelming.”

“Breathe,” Tel Zair told her, caressing her breasts and twisting her nipples until she whimpered in sheer pleasure. With the huge strap-on prodding insistently at her most vulnerable area, hard and unforgiving every time she clenched around it, every fraction of added stimulation felt overwhelming, making her shudder and moan. But she wanted a fuck to remember, and she craved the opportunity to obey her lover.

Finally she was all the way seated. She squirmed, accustoming herself to the sheer pressure. Soon those slight shifts of her hips became experimental thrusts- and before long, as Tel Zaire rolled her hips upwards, she was riding it in earnest. More than anything, she felt like she needed to come.

“Tell me again who you belong to,” Tel Zair said, gripping Seagull’s shoulders tight enough to bruise as Seagull frantically fucked herself on the warlord’s glowing cock. “Where your loyalties lie.”

“Yours,” Seagull gasped. “Only ever yours-“

Without warning, the strap-on started to intensely vibrate. Seagull cried out, overwhelmed, as it buzzed her clit from the inside out. She reached down to rub herself with fast, desperate motions. Tel Zair grabbed her wrist and guided her strokes so that they were slower and deeper, more methodical, teasing her arousal to an unbearable fever pitch. Her clit had never felt so sensitive.

“Please, I can’t- I’m about to-“

“No,” Tel Zair said, her voice cold with command. “You’ll wait.”

Seagull collapsed atop her, shaking as she endured Tel Zair’s methodical thrusts. Tel Zair wrapped her arms and legs around Seagull, a position that brought her clit in direct contact with the strap-on’s vibrating base. All she could focus on was holding back her orgasm, keeping her inner muscles tensed; if her control wavered even momentarily against the onslaught of prickling hot sensation, all would be lost.

Tel Zair fisted a hand in Seagull’s hair. “Fucking gorgeous,” she gasped, her voice wavering. “Mine-“ A look of sheer bliss spread over her features as her own control faltered, her thrusts pounding Seagull’s g-spot. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, and “Seagull, now-“

The orgasm shot through her like lightning. It was too much and at the same time not enough, never enough; she clung against Tel Zair as they moved together, the vibrations thrumming in pulsating waves of sensation and pleasure against her clit. She didn’t even try to hold back the noises that fell from her open mouth.

Knowledge flooded her mind: Tel Zair’s steady, unconditional trust, her pure admiration for Seagull’s intellect. Her love. And the fact that, had Tel Zair known about Seagull’s plan to begin with, she would have gone willingly to even permanent doom, and counted it as victory. She was overwhelmed by the warlord’s inner strength. And then by the powerful vibrations which continued to drill against her oversensitive body.

Tel Zair cursed; evidently her clit couldn’t take it either. She scrambled to unharness herself as Seagull flopped breathlessly to the other end of the bed. The dildo ended up on the floor, where it vibrated and wiggled from one end of the room to another. Tel Zair and Seagull looked at each other and started laughing. A few buttons pressed on Tel Zair’s wristcomputer turned it off.

“Of course you'll have to go back,” said Tel Zair, and Seagull nodded. Someone using Tel Zair's banner and tactics to keep the rebellion alive was one thing. That someone with Tel Zair's lover as a war prize would arouse the Sexarchate's suspicions.  
“I'll have someone bring you your clothes; but remember, you're not just doing this for your people. Every member of the Sexarchate you bring down is one step closer to our life together."  
“You really mean that,” Seagull whispered, awed.  
“I'll learn to like eating raw fish. Whatever it takes.”  
“Whatever it takes,” Seagull vowed as well. “I can’t wait to wear your collar. To let everyone know I’m yours.”

“Hmm,” Tel Zair said quietly. “There’s a tradition on my planet… Seagull, let me try something?”

Seagull nodded, full of trust. She breathed out, contented, as Tel Zair placed her hands around Seagull’s neck and spoke a few words in her own language. Then she felt it. A smooth velvet-lined leather band with a dangling charm.

Tel Zair removed her hands, but smiled. “It’s a psychic collar… there were some psychics on my home planet before the Sexarchate moved in, and a few tricks of theirs have been passed down. You’ll know who you belong to. To everyone else, you’ll just be a good little Sexarchate oppressor. But you’ll know I love you. You’ll know you’re mine.”

Seagull smiled. The collar wouldn’t just let her know who she belonged to. It would remind her who she truly was.   
  
And so, a few hours later, the inveterate traitor Seagull Scourge returned to the halls of Sexarchate High Command to continue with her master plan.


End file.
